Steady State
by liketheriver
Summary: Sheppard touches something he shouldn’t, McKay deals with the consequences, Kavanagh gets a new hair style and Zelenka sings! Complete!
1. Contraction

_RATING: T for language and minor violence and adult situations._

_SEASON: Probably in the second half of the first season somewhere._

_MAJOR CHARACTERS: The boys, of course, (if you don't know who I'm talking about, you're in the wrong fic), and all their friends will make an appearance._

_CATEGORY: a little of this, a little of that._

_SUMMARY: Sheppard touches something he shouldn't, McKay deals with the consequences, Kavanagh gets a new hair style and Zelenka sings!_

_SPOILERS: There are a few hints, here and there, but nothing gets spoiled too badly, but everything in Season One is fair game._

_FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I thrive on it and so do the bunnies._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, their friends, or any trademarked, copyrighted, or patented persons, places or things they may use on, discuss with or compare themselves or said friends to._

_NOTES: This story is a follow-up to my stories in 'Triptych', although it is not what I would consider a sequel. Still you should probably go back and read 'Triptych' if you haven't as many references will make much more sense. Also, be aware this story moves around in time; don't panic, stay alert, pay attention to the time codes and you should be fine._

_ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This one is for Koschka, since she asked nicely (i.e. whined incessantly) for another Rodney POV story only with John at death's door this time around. It wouldn't have been possible without her help, input, support, motivation and, shall we say, inspirational emails conversations. The frog socks didn't hurt either. Here you go, kiddo, a little angst to brighten your day…or something. Ah, hell, you know what I mean!_

**Steady State**

**by liketheriver**

**steady state **(ste-dE stAt) _noun __Physics_ A stable condition that does not change over time or in which change in one direction is continually balanced by change in another.

**Chapter 1- Contraction**

**T minus 0: Steady State**

In 1905, a patent clerk in Switzerland with hair that makes Sheppard's look coifed and a mental capacity that makes most of my staff look like they should have chosen a profession that involved asking 'do you want fries with that', published a series of papers that among other things provided proof of the atom, laid one of the cornerstones of quantum mechanics, and bestowed the simple eloquence of the equation E equals mc2. Three groundbreaking ideas all published in one year while he worked with no University backing, no DoD funding, nothing beyond an unqualified love of science and a desire to explain the universe that he inhabited. Einstein's work was innovative, influential, and absolutely breathtaking. It's enough to give even me an inferiority complex.

And although all three concepts were worthy of a Nobel Prize in Physics, and one actually did win one, they were just a starting point for what would become his own personal quest for physics' Holy Grail. Einstein believed that all physical phenomena should ultimately be explainable by some underlying unity and he set out to prove the point through a Unified Field Theory. He never found it, but in his attempt he tackled one of the greatest cosmological puzzles of his time; if both Newtonian gravity and his own time-space curves were correct and everything is attracted to everything else, what keeps the universe from collapsing in on itself? It was quite a conundrum he had worked himself into, seeing as all observations indicated that the universe was not contracting but expanding. And as is often the case in science, what you can't explain, you prevaricate. You introduce the 'and then the miracle happened,' constant into the equation. For Einstein, that fudge factor became known as the 'cosmological constant' and for a time it seemed to work. The universe, and its density across time and space, where held in a steady state by counteracting the universal attraction. Theoretically, new matter would be created to fill in the empty space created by expansion. Others jumped on the band wagon and for several decades the idea of an expanding universe that doesn't change its appearance over time was considered the norm. It was an attractive notion in that it removed the need for the universe to have a beginning or an end; it simply was what it is and always will be what it was. And even for the layman, it is a comforting thought to think that if something changes in one direction it is continually balanced by change in the other.

Of course, later observations by Hubble showed that the galaxies at the edge of the universe were receding faster than those in the interior, so that the universe was anything but steady and the Big Bang theory quickly came into vogue. Einstein, being the slave to scientific observation that he was, publicly renounced the Steady State theory in 1933, calling his 'cosmological constant' the "biggest blunder I ever made." Believe me; it takes a big man to admit his mistakes, especially when he is already the biggest man in science. And from a purely scientific view, he was right to retract his stance; the Steady State theory has more holes than the plot of the last 'Matrix' movie.

However, standing here, trying to keep my own personal universe from collapsing in on me as I help situate Sheppard in the stasis chamber, I'm starting to believe that there may be more to the theory than originally meets the eye. Carson moves away from his left side as soon as he is sure that John isn't going to tumble out of the chamber due to his weakening muscles. I will myself to let go of his right arm and after a final gentle squeeze manage to release my grip.

Before I can take a step away, he reaches out, and for a split second I fear that he might do as Carson has worried and flop bonelessly to the floor. Instead, he takes hold of my arm, much like I had been holding his a few second earlier. "Three days, McKay." It is spoken as a statement, but the look in his eyes is questioning.

I force a small smile, knowing it doesn't go beyond the corners of my mouth. But I place my hand over the one weakly holding my bicep, trying not to think that just a few days ago this same grasp could have cut off the circulation below my elbow. He is so frail, so goddamned fragile that it's up to me to balance the equation and be the strong one here. "Three days," I confirm, knowing that the words may be lies even as they trip off my tongue.

"Three days," he restates and for a second the strength that I have come to expect is back. If only it would stay, if only I didn't have to do this, if only he hadn't touched the damned thing in the first place, if only I had been there to stop the whole fiasco, if only the universe would stop changing so fucking fast that I could actually catch my breath between crises, I might be able to do more than try to buy a little time, try to defy the laws of physics and try to maintain a Steady State that really doesn't exist.

I feel the tremors ripple through his fingers and they echo through me like a miniature convulsion. I realize if I don't do this now I'm going to run screaming like a lunatic from this room and never look back. I start to speak, to reinforce his time limit, but my throat is constricting so painfully that the words are trapped heavily in my gut. I nod feebly- he deserves more, but it's the best I can do- and move quickly and deliberately to the control panel.

I place one shaking hand on the controls, and look to the other two men in the room. Per John's request, the number of people here is limited to me to operate the controls, Carson to monitor his vitals during the process, and Radek to assist me in monitoring the energy flux restarting the chamber may cause. They both nod from their positions and I raise my eyes one last time to meet Sheppard's. He leans back against the wall of the chamber. "Let's get this over with so you guys can blow this popsicle stand."

I can't stop the small choked snicker that escapes at his joke. God forbid that those are the famous last words of Major John Sheppard, but if they are, he obviously considers them appropriate. My reaction earns me a lopsided smirk and it remains on his face as he closes his eyes with a nearly indiscernible nod. At his signal, I close my own eyes, think _stasis_, and feel the unit hum to life under my palm. I find I can't reopen my eyes but I can hear the hiss as the media fills the chamber, slowing John's heart, his respiration, his blood flowing thick with alien poison. And in so doing, slowing the imminence of death until Ford and Teyla can find the necessary ingredient and Carson can concoct the antidote to stop it all together.

I talked him in to this and I know it's his only chance. That's the irony of the poison; it takes longer to brew the antidote than it does for the toxins to kill. I also know he hates it, for the same blue goop-tinged rationale that I hate it, and the only reason he overcame that claustrophobic dread and agreed to step into the chamber is because he trusts me. He trusts that regardless of whether or not we find a successful antidote, I will remove him and for good or ill, the stasis is just temporary. With a small beep the chamber indicates that it is full and the unit shuts down.

Einstein once said, "I never think of the future. It comes soon enough." Those are words to live by if your best friend's life isn't balanced on the edge of that slowly spinning event horizon known as the future that is rushing towards you at the speed of light. But right now, in this steady state that I find myself, in my own emotional stasis, I both welcome and dread what the future has in store. I find myself trying to figure out how I can want something so badly and fear it so completely all at the same time.

**T minus 37 hrs 28 minutes**

"McKay!"

I halt my stalk down the hallway at Sheppard's voice and turn to see him jogging to catch up with me. He's dressed for a mission- black clothes, black gear, black guns- and I can't help but wonder if he likes Johnny Cash more for his music or his fashion sense. The sight of him geared up and ready to go only infuriates me more, seeing as I'm in my standard lab attire…which, technically, is very similar to what I wear in the field, minus the vest, the pack, and the gun. Still, I miss their familiar weight…okay, miss may be an overstatement, what with all the tech I have to carry along with all the supposed 'essentials' that Sheppard makes me carry, it really is heavy. But that doesn't change the fact that the team is going and I am staying, as I'm still on medical down time.

"Hey, where are you off to?" he asks and I turn and continue walking, the slight limp even noticeable to me as I try to pick up speed.

"Oh, just one of my all time favorite tasks as babysitter for the greatest collection of preschool geniuses in the universe that is known in some circles as the Atlantis Expedition science staff."

"So what now? Someone solder the screw on your twirly stool again?" He grins and I just glare.

"First off, that was a great stool; it was the perfect height, spun at just the right velocity, never squeaked. I specifically chose that one to bring with me on what is quickly turning into the job from hell and some asshole decides it would be fun to destroy the small amount of joy that I receive in life by welding the spinning mechanism closed. Corporal punishment will not do justice to whoever did that." The grin just broadens and for a minute I have to wonder if he is the culprit, which would really suck seeing as I owe him my life and all. Still, it was a great stool and there is something to be said about quality of life versus quantity.

"Second, no, it has nothing to do with me other than the fact that they are members of my staff which Elizabeth interprets to mean that I have to be part of any discipline that is doled out. I may have multiple PhDs, but I can assure you that not one of them is in Criminal Justice or Elementary Education, so why I have to do this is beyond me."

He steps in front of me, putting a hand to my chest and stopping me in my tracks. "Okay, if you don't slow down, you're just going to make your leg worse and Carson isn't going to release you back to full duty anytime soon."

I grit my teeth. "One nurse maid is enough, Major."

"I'm just saying that you did this to yourself…"

I cross my arms and throw my head back. "Oh, so now I intentionally fell out of a tree and tore a giant gash in my leg. Yes, that was my plan all along, nearly bleed to death on an alien planet while being stalked by man-eating frogs, then spend weeks in physical therapy trying to overcome the insane amount of muscle damage that was done…"

"See, there you go. That's what I'm talking about. You can't have it both ways, Rodney. You can't expect Beckett to release you if you keep trying to play the sympathy card."

The nerve of the son of a bitch is staggering; to even suggest that I was using my injury, my life-threatening, near-crippling injury, as a pity ploy. So, I needed help early on? I was on crutches for Pete's sake. He really didn't expect me to carry my food tray did he, or my laptop, or that piece of Ancient equipment I asked him to move? And that whole rearrangement of my living quarters was just so I could maneuver better with the crutches. And it really hurt to bend my leg, what with the stitches and all, so what's the big deal if he had to stop by and tie my boots for me every morning? He just lives two doors down, it's not like he had to go out of his way, especially since he had to go to the cafeteria with me so he could carry my food tray anyway. And he has the nerve to accuse me of being whiny? I honestly hope he is the one that screwed with my stool so I can have a real excuse to kick his ass. Metaphorically, of course; I am still injured.

With a glower I warn him, "Watch yourself, Major, or I'll have to change my mind and insist that you really do need a scientist on your team and who knows who I'll assign."

It has been over three weeks since Sheppard and I returned from our vacation on Planet of the Frogs and while the Major was cleared for full duty two weeks ago, Carson's assessment of my leg has left me on the injured reserve list. I'll give John credit, he tried his damnedest to wait for me to be cleared, but with that Cocker Spaniel-like attention span of his, I knew he wouldn't last. Through sheer will power and brute determination, he actually made it two whole days before he was in Weir's office asking for missions for him and the rest of the team. In turn, I tried my damnedest to keep him grounded.

The sneaky bastard went to see her while I was in my staff meeting and if Peter hadn't been running late and just happen to mention that he had seen them going into her office on the way to the meeting, I have no doubt that she would have returned them to full duty without me. I, however, had simply turned the meeting over to Radek, set a new land speed record hobbling down the hall on my crutches, and successfully argued that the team needed a science advisor and seeing as I was going to be released any day, it was ridiculous to train up one of the other scientists to take my place for such a short time. In the end Elizabeth came up with a compromise; the team could go on missions without a scientist if they were limited to excursions within the city and to already pre-established friendly worlds, check-ins with trading partners and the like. Neither John nor I were happy, but neither were we so unhappy that we stopped eating dinner together in the evenings. Besides, he still had to carry my food tray, so he didn't have much choice in the matter.

He frowns as I wave a piece of paper in his face. "Maybe I'll assign one of my problem children I'm dealing with today."

He snatches the paper from my hand. "So are you going to tell me what's wrong or just blow past me in a gimpy rage?" With a sigh, I indicate he should unfold the paper he is holding. "Well, that's a new look for him," is his only response. 'Him' would be Kavanagh and the 'new look' would be French braids to rival the Swiss Miss girl.

"Oh, believe me, he didn't choose that look for himself. Evidently someone, which is just code for Radek, drugged his dinner last night, snuck into his room while he was in a narcotic induced stupor and provided his new hair style." John snickers but silences quickly with my glare. "He then decided to photograph his handiwork and use it as a backdrop for the weekly work assignment schedule that was handed out at the staff meeting this morning." I roll my eyes heavenward looking for patience, for guidance, for a lightning bolt to drop from the sky and put me out of my misery.

"That's not the worst part. Before he started braiding, Radek treated the hair with a concoction of his own creation that can only be described as hair gel blended with superglue and they will not come out." Sheppard lets out a sputter and as much as I try to glower once again, I can't keep the giggles from my own voice. "Kavanagh's running around in a black stocking cap today trying to keep them covered. If I didn't know better, I would think that the National Science Foundation started funding black ops training."

We continue laughing and I let my head drop into one hand with a groan. "I swear to god, if Carson doesn't clear me for a mission soon, I will not be held responsible for my actions. You'll help me, won't you, Major? Cover my tracks when certain members of my staff just start disappearing?"

He throws an arm around my shoulder and resumes walking me toward Elizabeth's office. "Sure, Rodney, that's what friends are for. I'll even help you push the bodies back in the ocean when they start floating up on the North Pier. And when anybody asks what happened to all the chemists, I'll just say, 'what chemistry staff?'"

"I always knew you were a pal, even after you stabbed me in the back and went back to work without me."

"Oh, yeah, diplomatic missions, your favorite. Tell me honestly that you would rather be out admiring crops and counting livestock than playing with all your Ancient goodies in the lab and I will cancel all the trips we have planned for this week."

I grimace because he's right. There really is nothing worse than exchanging pleasantries with a head tribesman. Teyla has it down to an art. She knows exactly when to comment on the girth of his livestock, the appeal of his produce and the beauty of his daughters. I, however, have a tendency to confuse which qualifier goes with which item and for some reason most tribesmen take offense when you compliment them on the girth of their daughters and give you odd looks when you comment on the appeal of their livestock. I shake my head, not letting him get the best of me. "Don't try to twist the facts; you'll just end up confusing yourself. You still get to go through the gate and fly the Jumper. That makes up for any ambassadorial misery."

"Look, if it's the Jumper you miss, I'll fix you up. I'm dropping Teyla on the mainland tonight to help settle a land dispute, tag along and I'll let you fly back."

I try my best not to look like a teenager being told he can stay out past curfew. I haven't flown the Jumper in months. Months! And once I'm in the pilot seat, I'm sure I can convince him to let me joy ride for a while, or at least grip the controls tight enough that he can't pry me away. Still, I don't want him to think this gets him off the hook for returning to duty. I frown in thought. "Hmmm….let me see if I can rearrange a few things and I'll get back to you."

"Well, if it's going to put you out…"

"No!" I clear my throat at the mischievous glint in his eyes. "No, I think I should be able to make it work."

He looks at his watch as we reach the entrance to Elizabeth's office. "Oh, hell, I'm late."

"Where're you guys off to today?" I try not to sound as sullen as I feel.

"Just surveying a portion of the city; Level 3, Section C."

I frown, "That's the same area as the viral lab we found."

"Yep, but our survey is nowhere near that lab."

"Still…just be careful. Don't go touching anything."

He roll his eyes as he walks away, "Yes, mom."

"Smart ass!" I call after him.

He turns with a smirk and a salute, "That's Major Smart Ass to you," then he is gone down the corridor.

**T plus 8 minutes**

I stare at my shoes, at the consol, at Carson's back, at Radek's toolkit, anywhere except at the stasis chamber.

"Energy levels are stabilizing," Radek tells me and I simply nod.

"His vitals look good," Carson sighs, "I'll stay and monitor them for a while longer then make periodic checks."

I hear Radek tell him that he thinks he can tie the readings into the displays in the medbay so that Carson can monitor them from there, but at this point I'm not really listening. My heart is pounding so loudly that the blood is throbbing in my ears and the room just seems to be getting smaller by the second. I mumble an "Excuse me," and head quickly for the door.

As I work my way down the corridor I hear Carson call me from behind. Without looking back or slowing down I hold up a shaky hand with a raised index finger. _Give me a minute, Carson_, is what I'm trying to say,_ just… one minute._

I move as fast as my sore leg will carry me, round a corner and put a hand on the wall, my knees suddenly wobbling precariously. I can't tell if Carson or Radek has followed me and, besides, I don't want to do this in the hall, so I find a room, any room, and duck inside. The lights come on as I step in, and I absently note it's a practically empty living quarters, but I don't want the lights either so I think them off. The darkness descends, pushing me heavily against the closed door. I rest my forehead on the cool metal, pull in deep, ragged breaths and take my minute.

One light-year, two light-years, three light-years, four light-years…

_Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit, goddammit…_ I let out a small whimper that is quickly smothered by the weight of the darkness.

Ten light-years, eleven light-years, twelve light-years…

I ball my hand into a fist and pound it into the door frame. It feels good, so I do it again…and again…and again…

Nineteen light-years, twenty light-years, twenty-one light-years, twenty-two…

I add a kick and a guttural "Fuck!" that seems to echo through the nearly vacant room.

Twenty-eight light-years, twenty-nine light-years, thirty…

I roll my head on the door, soak in the chill of the surface, breath in the coolness as I pant through the rawness in my throat, feel the tingle in my fingers as I open my hand and place them flat against the same smooth metal. "Fuck," I whisper past the catch in my voice.

Thirty-six light-years, thirty-seven light-years…

I turn, slide down the door, pull my knees up, feel the pain in my leg from my injury, in my hand from the punches, in my foot from the kicking, in my soul…

Forty-three light-years, forty-four light-years, forty-five…

But the pain means I'm alive and the stasis means John's alive and that means we still have a chance and when Ford and the rest get back later tonight Carson can start the antidote and when it's done I can take him out of that fucking tank…no, not a tank, a chamber, a goddamned chamber…right, like there's really any difference…

Fifty-three light-years, fifty-four light-years, fifty-five light-years…

No, there's really no difference; I may be able to lie to John but I can't lie to myself. I take a final deep breath, run my hand through my hair, exhale loudly.

Fifty-eight light-years, fifty-nine light-years, sixty.

My minute is up and as tempting as it is to take a few more, I know I can't. People are depending on me, he is depending on me. I wipe at my eyes, sniffle once, and push myself to a stand with a grunt. I open the door and blink at the light from the hallway. No, I can't lie to myself, I think as I head back down to the stasis room, and I'm not sure how many more times I can lie to John, either.

**T minus 36 hrs 16 minutes**

"Rodney, I cannot let something like this go unpunished." She leans forward and links her hands on her desk. I glance meaningfully at my watch, wondering how much longer we are going to go round and round about this.

"Elizabeth, it's just some braids and the hair goo will eventually wash out."

"Forget what he did with his hair; that would fall under the heading of a prank. I'm talking about the fact that he drugged him in order to do it; that falls under felonious assault."

I throw my hands up in the air in frustration. "Fine, you're right. Radek is a horrible, horrible person, an absolute menace to society. Now, what do you suggest we do to him? Shoot him? Public flogging?"

She grimaces at my sarcasm. "I don't think anything that drastic will be necessary."

"Post an armed guard at his quarters? Oh! I know, lock him up like Steve the Wraith and let Sheppard walk around the outside of the cell and taunt him mercilessly."

"Rodney, that's enough."

"Well, then you tell me, because I cannot do without him in the labs. He is too valuable and I can't trust anyone else to run things when I'm on a mission."

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow. "Really? A month ago you left Dr. Kavanagh in charge."

I roll my eyes. "A month ago Radek was trying to have me committed in a planned coup d'état, but the endorphin levels in his system have finally evened out and he has seen the error in his seditious ways."

"And so now that he's not grubbing for your job you can't function without him?"

I sigh and shake my head. "Of course I can function without him, I could function without any of them, probably with less stress and more sleep, even. But when I finally get released to full duty, someone is going to have to keep this place from falling down around your ears when I can't be here."

"And I take it that someone is the new kinder, gentler, Dr. Zelenka."

I bristle at her patronizing tone, sit straighter, and raise my chin. "Yes."

"I think Dr. Kavanagh would disagree with your assessment of Dr. Zelenka's character."

I scowl at her. "Look, Zelenka isn't the only person wanting to get his hands on Kavanagh, he's just the only one ballsy enough, and not restricted by their supervisory position," I tell her pointedly, enclosing my own personal limitations in air quotes, "to actually do it. The man has a suggestion box on his desk filled with ideas provided by the other scientists. Hell, I even have a few in there myself."

"So, how do you suggest we handle this?" she asks as she leans back in her chair.

"Send him on a mission."

"I thought you just said you needed Radek here."

Lord, give me patience. I speak slowly so as not to confuse her anymore than I evidently already have. "Not Radek, Kavanagh."

"Kavanagh?"

"Obviously he is not getting along with the other scientists and he just as obviously needs to learn a little humility. I was perfectly content to sit back and let evolution take its course, but since you don't agree with my management style…"

"Survival of the fittest is a law of nature, Rodney, not a management style," she interrupts.

"When in Rome, Elizabeth, when in Rome." She shakes her head with a frown and crosses her arms. "Now as I was saying, since you insist on interfering instead of letting this situation run its natural course, send him out with a military team. Believe me, he will learn a lot about interpersonal skills when he is thrust into that sort of dynamic, especially when people are shooting at him…preferably not his own teammates, but I'm not going to hold my breath. And there will be no better growth experience than running for his life to the gate, whether from hostile aliens or armed marines."

"Well, if anyone can provide eyewitness testimony in that arena, it would be you, Rodney." She smiles sweetly and I open my mouth to reply when the radio keys in my ear.

"Medical team to Level 3, Section C." It's Ford and I barely register the worried frown on Elizabeth's face as I rise as quickly as my pulse rate and head for the door, already plotting the quickest course to that segment of the city.

"Lieutenant," Carson breaks across, "how many people are injured?"

"No one is injured," John grumbles in my ear and I let out a small relieved breath without slowing my stride.

"Sir, no offense, but I think we should let the medics make that determination."

"Lt. Ford is correct, Major," Teyla interjects, "you should be examined by a doctor."

"Its just a few scratches," Sheppard insists.

"Cuts, sir; scratches don't bleed that much."

"Don't play semantics with me, Ford."

I tap my radio, "Major, just listen to your team and sit tight."

"No one asked your opinion, McKay," he growls.

Carson comes across again, "Yes, but they did ask for mine, and I'm telling you to stay where you are, a team is on its way."

I reach the transporter at the same time as the medical crew and we travel to Level 3 together. Teyla meets us at the door and leads us to the room where Ford is standing guard over Sheppard, whether to protect him or keep him from bolting is unclear, but I'm guessing the latter. John sits on the floor amidst a field of broken glass with a multitude of small cuts running crimson on his face and arms.

"I told you not to touch anything," I tell him as the medic squats next to him on the floor.

"You know, Rodney, one of the perks of having you grounded was that I was supposed to get to cut back on my daily dose of asshole."

I raise my eyebrows at that comment and Ford chuckles, "Uh, sir, did you just say what I think you said?"

I watch as the gears turn in his head and he rethinks his last statement then he closes his eyes and hangs his head, "Oh, hell, you know what I meant."

"Check him for a head injury," I tell the medics, "he's even less coherent than normal."

"You are not helping," he snarls.

"Actually, Major, that shelf did hit you rather hard on the head."

He turns his glare to Teyla, "You're not helping, either." He winces as the medics start dabbing at the cuts.

"So, what exactly happened? Not that you're known for your world renowned grace or anything but you're rarely this much of a klutz."

At my question, Ford snickers again and even Teyla bites her lip to keep from joining him. Sheppard just glares at them, "Oh, you think it's funny, huh? Well, watch this; just for god's sake keep a hand on him so he doesn't do the same thing I did." I give him an odd look and he hitches his head toward the far wall. "Look what's on the shelf over there."

I squint in the direction he indicates and take a few tentative steps forward when I see it, a large jar containing a perfectly pickled killer frog. And even though the rational part of my brain is telling me it has been dead for over ten thousand years, the self preservation part that is still wound so tight its about to snap, causes me to jump back with an "Oh, shit!"

Teyla grabs my arm before I can slam into anything and furrows her brow. "That is the same reaction the Major had."

I lick my lips, still wanting to back away a few more steps. "Yes, well, perfectly understandable reaction on his part."

The medical team has just about finished with Sheppard, telling him that a few of the cuts seem to still have glass in them and a few more will need a couple of stitches and that he will need to report to the infirmary. They help him stand and he sways slightly but shakes off the hands offering to support him. I step in on one side and Teyla on the other, knowing that if he does start to topple over he'll be more willing to accept our assistance than that of the medics.

He tugs at his clothing, trying to shake free any glass slivers that remain then looks down with a simple, "Hmmm."

"What?" I ask, getting ready to put a hand to his elbow and lead him to the transporter if he doesn't start moving on his own.

He bends down and picks up a single crystal tumbler, the light casting oily rainbows across its smoky surface, "It's the only one that didn't break."

"Fascinating," I tell him impatiently as he places it on another shelf, "now let's go see Carson so he can practice his cross-stitch on you."

**T plus 5 hours 57 minutes**

I sit in my lab and take apart the Ancient box with the inverted salad bowls. I have no idea what the damned thing does other than light up when I touch it, each bowl a different color, like some kitschy Tupperware Christmas tree. But the not knowing has finally pissed me off to the point that I want it in as many tiny pieces as I can reduce it into with a cordless screwdriver and drill set. I swear this thing must be the Ancient equivalent of a Middle School woodshop project; an atrocious knickknack that some Atlantean mother felt obligated to display because her child made it for her for her birthday. And now, ten thousand years later, I have finally had the common decency to do what that poor woman should have done all those millennia ago; throw it in the recycle bin.

It is late; late enough that most everyone is in bed other than the standard skeleton night crew in the control room and roaming security. But Ford's team is due back in a few hours, so I don't want to go to sleep just yet. Ford's team; not Sheppard's, Ford's. The thought makes me rev the screwdriver with a renewed vengeance and chases all notion of sleep from my mind. As if I could sleep even if I wanted to, which I don't. No, what I want to do is DeWalt this blinking piece of multicolored shit down into a pile of spare parts. I am about to go to work on another goddamned twinkling bowl when I hear the door slide open.

Radek strolls in wearing his iPod and earphones, half humming, half mumbling the lyrics to whatever he is listening. He casually glances in my direction; he flips open the laptop at his workstation without a word, and begins typing. I blink in surprise that he doesn't speak and that he is here at all. I watch him for a few seconds, listen to his quiet singing until I recognize the song, then roll my eyes…'Mama Mia' by ABBA. I wait for him to say something, to do something beyond click the mouse on his computer and mangle Swedish pop music, but when he still doesn't acknowledge my presence I shake my head and return to my disassembly.

We work this way for a good half hour, he on his laptop, me on my Ancient piece of crap, without speaking, without looking at one another, without anything more than just being present. My screwdriver begins to struggle sluggishly and I turn it off to change out the battery pack. I rummage through the workbench, looking on the lower shelves for the spare pack, swearing I will clean up the clutter so a person can find the goddamned battery pack when he needs it as soon as I finish taking out my aggressions on this glorified hunk of scrap metal.

"So now go…walk out the door…just turn around now…you're not welcome anymore." I catch myself singing along with Radek, who has decided to forgo the mumbling when it comes to singing Gloria Gaynor. I raise my head above the table level and see the back of his fuzzy head bobbing in time with the music, working little hand motions in to match the lyrics. I let out a weary sigh. This is so not what I need right now. What I need is the satisfying thud of a red salad bowl falling to the ground as a result of a fully charged yellow power tool tearing it violently from its current point of attachment. Unfortunately, the requisite power tool is sitting power_less _in my hand while I listen to the off key soundtrack for a Czechoslovakian drag review.

"Radek," I call, but he just continues to sing. "Radek!" Still no response. I walk around the bench so that I'm standing behind him. I look over his shoulder, only to find that all this time that I thought he was catching up on some paperwork, he has been playing Minesweeper on his computer. Its…What? One thirty in the morning and he is sitting here in the lab listening to seventies disco music and playing factory installed games on his computer. I pull one of the earphones away from his ear. "Radek!"

"Do prdele!" He jumps and clutches his chest. "Are you trying to give me heart attack? Is one friend is stasis not enough? Do you need other on life support in hospital, also?"

I close my eyes and try to loosen my grip on the screwdriver that, at this moment, I oh so desperately want to turn into what the crime scene investigators will undoubtedly call a blunt object. "What are you doing?" I ask with every shred of patience I can muster from within me.

"Listening to music and playing Minesweeper." I just stare at him. "It is good game. I have never played before tonight." I just continue to stare at him and he just stares back, perfectly content with his answer.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

He rolls his eyes at the ridiculous nature of my question. "Of course I have better things to do. I could be sleeping in bed, dreaming of American cheeseburgers and German figure skaters. I could be flirting with pretty biologist with big breasts studying nocturnal birds nesting in city spires. I could be folding laundry I washed today. There are many better things to be doing."

"Then why don't you go do one of them?" My teeth ache from grinding them and the grip of the screwdriver is going to leave a permanent pattern on my palm if I don't stop squeezing it so hard.

He shrugs and turns back to his computer game. "Because I make promise to Major and must keep it."

The power tool clatters to the floor. "You made a promise to Sheppard?" He nods without turning around. "What kind of promise?"

"To keep you company so you no get lonely and cry like little girl who has lost puppy dog."

"Major Sheppard asked you to keep me company so I don't get lonely?" I ask in disbelief.

"Well, not in so many words, you see, but that is meaning behind them. No, what he says was 'try to keep McKay out of Beckett's hair,' and 'don't let him beat up the scientists too bad'. You are getting picture, yes?"

Yeah, that sounds like John. And I mean really _sounds_ like him. Who knew Radek was the Czech equivalent of Rich Little? "That was…impressive," I tell him.

"You like?" He furrows his brow as he says, "Son of a bitch," in John's drawn out drawl, then smiles proudly.

"And kind of spooky." I suddenly find myself wondering how much he's been cataloging away about Sheppard and why.

He shrugs again. "It is all in inflection." He smiles broadly and points at the computer screen. "Aha! See, I have won. It is good game."

I stoop to pick up the screwdriver, still intent on taking apart the Ancient device, but not necessarily homicidally so. "So, how long are you planning on doing this?" I ask, noting as I stand that he has already started a new game.

"How long is Major Sheppard to stay in stasis?"

"A few days," I tell him, "less than a week," I tell myself.

He purses his lips and nods his head in contemplation. "If necessary, laundry can wait for week." He pushes his glasses up on his nose and returns to his game.

I look past his shoulder and see what I have been searching for. "Radek, could you…"

He doesn't stop playing his game, but says "You are such a pain in the ass, McKay," with perfect Sheppard inflection. He turns and smiles. "Feel better, yes?"

I frown, "Actually, I was just going to ask you to hand me that battery pack."

He laughs nervously as he hands me the pack. I snatch it from his hand with a scowl and turn to make my way back to my bench, hiding the first real smile I have had in days.

**T minus 23 hours 42 minutes**

"You know, that one above your eyebrow is going to leave a scar," I tell him as I scoot my tray down the cafeteria line, pointing out one of the half dozen cuts that had required stitches.

Sheppard grins as he grabs his own tray and places it beside mine. "Chicks dig scars."

"On nineteen year-old skateboarders, yes. On baby-faced bull riders, maybe. On thirty-seven year-old Air Force officers that have been gobbled up and spit out by the stargate a few too many times, not so much." I take a piece of Athosian flat bread, gnaw off a corner and start chewing as we continue down the line. "Besides, what are you going tell all these chicks? That you knocked over an Ancient glassware display trying to get away from a dead frog? I think that might kill the mood."

With a satisfied glimmer he tells me, "I'm thinking 'knife fight in Borneo' has a nice ring to it. Throw in a couple of marauding raiders, a young woman's virtue to protect, and I should have a pretty decent story."

"Ha! That's rich, telling tales of protecting one woman's virtues to try and get at another's. How very noble of you." I wave my bread in his face. "Kind of throws that whole notion of an officer and a gentleman out the window, though. But then again, you never were very good at multitasking."

He shoots a mocking sneer my way then suddenly smiles smugly. "Oh, look, we're having lemon bars for dessert, my favorite."

I scowl deeply and glower at the Private serving the food. "I thought we ran out of those fruits last week."

The fruits in question are the Pegasus Galaxy's second cousin to the lemon and we had obtained them as part of a trade mission almost a month ago. During the intervening weeks, the cooks had gone crazy, putting citrus in every damned pot in the kitchen. After administering one EpiPen myself and John administering another two nights later, he had finally had a talk with the kitchen crew, limiting them to one dish per meal, very clearly labeled, so that I could avoid choking to death on my own swollen tongue in the middle of dinner.

The young marine darts his eyes nervously between me and Sheppard and I realize with satisfaction that the conversation he had with the cooks probably involved very little talking. "We found another crate in the storeroom, but the cook only put them in the dessert, nothing else, I swear."

As if that is supposed to make it all better. They can't put it on one of the vegetable sides. No, they have to go and ruin dessert. I leave the frown firmly in place as I ask, "What've we got tonight, then?"

The Private goes over the menu, pointing to the industrial sized vats that house each item over a steam table. "Fish from our own backyard, that six-legged feather covered animal from M9C-455…"

I turn to Sheppard, "Was that the one that tasted like garlic beef?"

He shakes his head, "Uh-uh, more like sweet pork."

"Oh, yeah. Okay, I'll take that, and don't be stingy with the gravy, and some of the purple carrot-like things and the fried stuff that looks like hash browns but tastes like apples." He starts to scoop some, but I stop him. "No, further back, where they're really crispy and put that other helping beside that one on the Major's plate." He does as directed, for once without a sarcastic eye roll, and I ask him, "What's the pink stuff?"

"Something new; texture of mashed potatoes but tastes kind of like broccoli."

I scrunch my nose and shake my head, "Don't like broccoli," then turn again to Sheppard, "but you do, right?"

He nods, "Got to eat your greens…or in this case pinks," and I have the Private put a helping on my plate. John finishes off his order, stops me with a jerk on my shirt collar before I walk past the dessert table so that he can place my allotted share of death pastry on my tray and we head over to find a table. We sit with Ford and a few of the medical technician. As soon as I'm in my seat, I take a napkin and use it to place the lemon bar on Sheppard's tray, careful not to touch any of the actual cake. He picks up his plate and scrapes the apple hash browns onto mine and then I do the same with the pink broccoli mash onto his.

Believe me, the process is a major pain in the ass, but John came up with it after I kept getting death threats, in the form of both anonymous letters and verbal coercions, for allegedly taking extra helpings during our early food shortages. Since then, we've managed to find several trading partners so the food has been plentiful, if bizarre, but it has really become a routine that we have yet to abandon.

Ford and the techs are discussing a poker game for later tonight and are thrashing out the stakes and what any of them have that might be worthwhile to throw in the pot. Honestly, most things have been won and lost three times by now, but they just keep playing cards and the junk just keeps making the rounds. I dig into my meal and listen to the prattle for a few minutes, finally snorting when Ford starts to boast of his poker prowess.

"What?" he asks at the sound.

"You have a tell," I inform him around a mouthful of six-legged meat.

He frowns. "I don't have a tell." But he starts to look unsure when I shrug indifferently at his insistence. "Do I?"

I use a skewered purple carrot for emphasis. "You tap your cards on the table when you're bluffing." I pop the carrot in my mouth with a smile when he frowns deeper. "What you don't believe me? Ask the Major…" It's then that I notice Sheppard has yet to take a bite of his own meal. Instead he is sitting with his eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Major?" I ask and at my tone, Ford and the others stop talking.

He opens his eyes, looks at me in confusion for a second, then shakes his head. "It's nothing, just a headache that won't seem to go away."

"Well, you did take quite a clunk on the head from that shelf, sir." Ford supplies with a nervous smile.

"Yeah, I figure that's it, just would have hoped the acetaminophen would have kicked in by now."

I take a bite of the hash browns then use my fork to accentuate my point. "Did you get it from Carson? Because, I honestly think he's been handing out sugar pills instead of painkillers lately. I'm just not sure if he's running secret experiments or we have a shortage that he's not telling anyone about."

"Maybe he's just trying to wean you off the good stuff slowly so you don't go into withdrawal like you would if he were to cut you off cold turkey." He picks up his own fork and stabs into his meat as Ford and the others snicker under their breath.

"Oh, yes, let's make fun of the injured man and his excruciating yet valid need for pain management."

John gives me a gloating smile and lifts his fork. At first the tremor in his hand is small, barely noticeable, but by the time he lifts it to his mouth he is shaking so much that the meat is flinging gravy over to my own plate. His eyes go wide and he drops the fork with a clank and begins rubbing the offending hand with his other.

"Sheppard?" This time there is no hiding the concern in my voice.

He looks up from the fork on his plate to meet my gaze with bewildered eyes. "What the hell?"

I stand, walk around the table, and pull him up by the arm. "Come on, you're going to see Carson. Now."

I usher him out the door and down the hall at a brisk clip. "Scottish snake oil salesman. I swear he must have done his residency with the carney folk, hocking elixirs and tonics to cure everything from baldness to hoof and mouth disease while people stood in line to see the bearded lady."

"McKay…"

I ignore him, not giving him a chance to protest this trip. "How the hell could he miss something like this? You get hit on the head and what does he do? Puts a few band-aides on your cuts, gives you a couple of Tylenol, and sends you on your merry way."

"McKay…"

I continue walking; tightening my grip on his arm in case he starts to pull away. "Less than twelve hours later you're all but developing palsy before my eyes, on the verge of an epileptic fit in the cafeteria. No wonder he was so worried about FDA approval. I doubt he could even produce a diploma from a legitimate medical school, unless you count the flyers from the county fair."

"McKay…"

We are within sight of the infirmary door when the slur and the sudden extra weight in my hand bring me to a halt. Sheppard tries to reach out for the wall but misses and just goes limp onto the floor, dragging me with him. "Major!"

His head lolls drunkenly and he seems to be trying to lock onto my face and failing miserably. His hair is damp with sweat and he is panting. "What…the…hell?"

"John?" I place a hand on his chest and feel his heart beating wildly and erratically, racing for a few seconds, then slowing, then racing once again. Oh, fuck me, this is not good and this is not a simple bang on the head. "John!"

"Rodney…get…Beckett."

Leave it to him to keep his wits while he's lying here dying on the floor. "Carson!" I call hoping someone in the medbay will hear me. "CARSON!"

A nameless, faceless, generic marine exits the door and freezes when he sees us on the ground. I give him a second to respond, but when he doesn't I scream, "Has whatever alien STD you've sought treatment for rendered you an idiot or were you just recruited that way? Go get a fucking doctor!" He disappears back into the medbay and I turn back to John. His legs have started to twitch as if his synapses are firing randomly.

"Oh, no you don't," I tell him fiercely, "you will not go into a seizure on me."

His eyes roll around, still trying to find me. "Rodney?"

"Right here." I take one trembling hand in mine and at this point I'm not sure who's shaking more. "Not going anywhere and neither are you."

"Beckett?" he slurs out.

"Well, if anyone can manage to tear him away from the latest copy of 'Sheep Shearing Monthly' he should be here any second."

"Rodney?" The slur seems a little weaker, fainter.

"Here. I'm right here." Where the hell is Carson? Just, where the fucking hell is he? "Carson!"

He runs out of the infirmary door, followed by a flurry of white lab coats and scrubs. "What happened?" he demands as he drops on John's opposite side.

And I hear the words coming from my mouth telling Carson, see the medics with their equipment working on John, but feel the grip held in my hand weakening by the second.

**T plus 8 hours 22 minutes**

I make my way to the infirmary, Radek following close on my heels. It isn't until we reach the door that I realize I'm still carrying the screwdriver, having left the lab in such a hurry as soon as Ford called me on the radio. I look at it then around at my surroundings, finally deciding that Radek will make a damn fine toolbox for the time being.

"Here," I tell him as I shove it into his unexpecting arms, "and you better stay out here. No need to add insult to injury."

He nods with a smirk and I enter the medbay. Ford and Teyla stand to one side while Kavanagh lies cursing on one of the beds with Carson working on his arm. "What happened?" I demand.

"They shot me!" Kavanagh screeches. His black stocking cap is barely on his head and one braid hangs haphazardly on his shoulder.

I turn to Ford with an apprehensive tilt of my head and motion between him and Teyla, "You two didn't…" and I make the shape of a gun with my hand.

"As tempting as it was, no, it wasn't us," Ford assures me with an amused expression.

"It was those goddamned drug dealers you sent me to see!" Kavanagh explains. "The Columbians would not have been impressed with their operation."

Well, that explains how he had managed to pay for college. But as long as they were able to get the drugs, I really don't care. In fact, I'm ready to chalk this up to one hell of a growth experience for Kavanagh and move on to working on an antidote. "So, where is it?" I ask Ford.

All traces of the smile on his face vanish and he shakes his head. I open my mouth, but no words will come out. I run my hand through my hair, shift my weight, then fix Kavanagh with my glare.

"Oh, you cannot blame me for this, McKay," he insists. "The stuff was no where near the grade we had been promised. It was cut-brick."

"I'm sorry, but it's been a few decades since I last watched 'Miami Vice', could you please explain just what the hell that means."

"It means it wasn't pure, nowhere near it, it was cut with something else, probably plant sucrose of some sort." I just stare at him, too stunned by what I'm hearing to even know how to begin to react. "This is why you sent me along in the first place. I did what you asked, although it was well beyond the bounds of my job description here on Atlantis, determined the stuff was crap, and got shot for my troubles, which is also beyond the bounds of my job description."

I'm not sure what it is exactly that infuriates me so much about him. Maybe it's the arrogant tone of his voice. Maybe it's the perpetual sneer he seems to wear. Maybe it's the way that ridiculous stocking cap matches the frames of his glasses perfectly. I don't know and right now, I don't care. All I do know is that I wish I still had that damned screwdriver. "Job description? Job description? Do you even know what your job description is? Because I have a sneaking suspicion that you think it has something to do with whining and finger pointing." I move toward the bed and Kavanagh's eyes widen. "Your job, Doctor, is to do anything and everything possible to keep this expedition going and in this case that means doing everything in your power to keep the ranking military officer alive."

"You know what, McKay, screw you. While I was out getting shot at by this galaxy's equivalent of street dealers, what were you doing? Oh, I know, sitting around feeling sorry for yourself because you had to put your best bud in cold storage."

I let out a growl and move to close the small distance between me and the bed but Ford and Teyla are already dragging me backwards. Carson stands and places his hands in the air. "All right that'll be just about enough out of the both of you. Rodney, I'll not have you trying to beat the crap out of someone that is about to go into surgery to have a bullet removed from his arm."

Kavanagh raises his chin with a smug smile, "Thank you, Dr. Beckett."

"And you," Carson's eyes narrow dangerously, as he points an accusatory finger in Kavanagh's face, "will shut that trap of yours and leave off any more comments about the Major or I will bloody well shut it for you."

I almost smile at the open-mouthed gape Kavanagh is giving Carson, even though I'm still pulling against the hold my teammates have on me. "Let it go, Doc," Ford says from my shoulder. "He may be a dick but he did do what he said. He even tried to get extra, thinking he could purify it once we got back, but they didn't have enough to make a difference."

I try to let go of the tension in my body and succeed enough that Ford and Teyla loosen their hold. Teyla squeezes my arm and gives me a questioning look. I nod as I tell them, "Go get your post-missions over with and I'll meet you outside."

With a final glare at Kavanagh, I exit the infirmary, and find Radek leaning casually against the wall, revving the screwdriver off and on. "So, Carson is to start making antidote now?"

I take up a spot next to him, "No, they couldn't get what we needed."

His face drops and we fall into a gloomy silence. Kavanagh, that whiny piece of shit. Whiny, but truthful. What the hell was I doing? What the hell could I do? I was reduced to sending him on a mission because I couldn't go myself. Couldn't do much of anything except sit around and wait for everything to go one hellish step closer to the accursed ride in a hand basket. No, there was one thing I could do; it was the same thing I did on most missions we went on. It was why I tried to keep Sheppard grounded until I was cleared as well. He may have been born with a gene that puts him one glowing rung away from full Ancient, but I'd come to the conclusion that it had been at the cost of any shred of self preservation. And so far, Carson hadn't been able or willing to try to cook up that particular gene in his lab. I, however, have enough survival instincts for the two of us, which had, up until this point, managed to keep us both alive.

"So, we are off to Plan B, then?"

Radek's question pulls me from my thoughts and I let out a bitter chuckle. Plan B. Sure, why not Plan B? I've already lied to John about everything else, why not Plan B as well? I just need to talk to Teyla about that one, first. "Sounds good to me."

He offers me the screwdriver. "You want to take something apart?"

"No thanks."

"You want I should call you pain in ass again?"

"Maybe later."

"You want I should sing 'I Will Survive' again?"

"Absolutely not."

"You want I should stop asking questions?"

"I knew they gave you that doctorate for some reason, Radek."

Fortunately he stops asking questions and once I take the screwdriver away from him so he stops turning it on and off, we wait for Ford and Teyla in silence. After several minutes, they exit the infirmary and I stand from my slouch against the wall.

"Teyla," I start, but she grabs me by the arm and starts walking me down the hall with Zelenka and Ford following close behind.

"Dr. McKay," she tells me earnestly, "we must talk."

I'm afraid of what she might say, that she will tell me she can't do what I'm going to ask, so I pull away and stop our progress. "Teyla, look, I know I have no right to ask you to do this, because it is so incredibly dangerous, but it's his only chance…" I trail off as she tries to hide her smile and glances at Ford who is trying to do the same thing. "What?"

"Doc, we were going to ask you if you could get us through the gate." Ford tells me in a loud whisper. "We're just going to grab some chow and extra gear and we'll be ready to go in an hour."

I can't keep the smile from my own face. "Are you serious? You're willing to go?"

"Major Sheppard did not want us to do this and Dr. Weir will not authorize it, which is why we were hoping you…"

I wave my hand, effectively silencing Teyla's worries. "I can handle both of them after you get back. And I'll get you through the gate if I have to hold the tech at gunpoint."

Radek speaks from behind me. "Guns? Rodney, you have been spending much too much time with military. Have you forgotten very critical diagnostic that must be run in hour? Without it, gate may explode, kill everyone in city, would be very tragic to read about in newspapers if we had any chance of surviving such disaster."

I smile even wider. "You know, Radek, I had forgotten all about it. Thank god you came along to remind me."

An hour later Radek and I are sprawled under the control consol using our beloved DeWalts to randomly remove and reattach panels, the gate tech on duty had been sent away for his own protection, and Ford and Teyla are through the wormhole on their search for raw, unadulterated Wraith's Blood.

_TBC_


	2. Flux

_A/N Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews on chapter 1. First, have you ever thought one thing and typed another? Well I did in Chapter 1. Einstein won a Nobel Prize in Physics, not the Peace Prize (hangs head in shame at making such silly mistake). Thanks to those that pointed it out and it is now fixed. Second, I am not a chemist or doctor, nor do I play one on TV, so I apologize in advance for any scientific/medical mistakes that may come out of this chapter or the next._

**steady state **(ste-dE stAt) _noun _ _Physics_ A stable condition that does not change over time or in which change in one direction is continually balanced by change in another

**Chapter 2- Flux**

**T minus 20 hours 36 minutes**

God, I hate hazmat suites; bulky, hot, awkward, and regardless of the fact that there is supplied air flowing inside providing a positive pressure, suffocating in all their orange glory. Can't work in them; have a tendency to die without them.

"Dr. McKay," Teyla calls and I turn my head in the direction of her muffled voice, only to find myself staring at the inside of my hood. With a curse I turn my whole body until I am actually looking at her similarly attired form through the lexan face shield. "The room is here."

Ford, who is also dressed in the protective clothing, is opening the door to the room that just hours ago we had stood in watching the medical team treat a few cuts and scrapes on Sheppard. Little did we know that those superficial wounds would be the least of his worries, and ours.

Poison, Carson has told us. Probably absorbed through the skin, because, given the apparent potency of the toxins, John would have been dead within minutes if it had been injected or ingested. According to Ford and Teyla, the only room that anyone on the team touched anything was the one where Sheppard had back-shuffled himself into a shelf of glassware. Even then, they didn't remember John actually touching anything that hadn't fallen on top of him. But I did; a smoky glass that had miraculously survived the fall.

We enter the room and I point to the suspect cup on the shelf where Sheppard had placed it. "Lieutenant, that one there. Bag it up."

He nods gravely, inverts the plastic baggy and wraps it carefully around the glass, pulls it right side out again so that the object in question is contained inside, then seals the top with help from Teyla. Like I said, bulky and awkward hazmat suites.

I scan the room for a data consol and smile grimly when I spot it. Small victories mean little when your friend is fighting a losing battle in a hospital bed several floors up. Carson hasn't been able to stop the progression of the poison, only treat it symptomatically and reach a tenuous balance between life and death. He believes the compound is similar to nicotine, as close in nature to the Earth toxin as the accursed citrus fruits in the dessert John never got to eat are to an Earth lemon. Still, it is different enough that the drugs Carson has administered have had very little effect.

Yes, there were drugs administered when we finally got him into the infirmary. There were calls for diazepam, discussions on the use of atropine, terms like hypoxia and parasympathetic toxicity floating through the curtain that separated me from the activity taking place just out of view but still just within arms reach. And all I could do was stand there, listening, trying to make out the tell tale sounds of a heart monitor, a mumbled slurred response as Carson called to him, anything to confirm that he was really still alive. But all I had was the activity, the flurry of motion as nurses and technicians and doctors moved steadily and reassuringly around me, because as long as there was that humming tension in the air, that meant there was still something worth moving a little faster for and calling a little more frantically about.

I don't know how long I stood there, wishing someone would stop to take the time to tell me something and yet fearing any slowdown in their motion. But eventually Teyla was beside me, tugging gently at my arm, leading me to a chair in the waiting area and I sat with her and Ford and Elizabeth and we all lingered helplessly together.

Carson exited some time later, explaining the situation. John was stable, for the time being. Incoherent but he hoped that would change in the near future when some of the drugs they had given him had run their course. They had been able to isolate a toxin in his blood, but not stop its progression and until he knew more about it, he doubted that he would be able to do just that.

And that is where we came in, Sheppard's team minus one Sheppard. We suited up and headed back to the only obvious source of exposure, hoping to find enough of a clue that Carson can find the rest of the answer.

I access the data port quickly and confirm what I have feared. This lab was used to research potentially deadly substances, not completely unlike the viral lab located in this same sector of the city. Would it have killed the Ancients to label things a little better? Because it sure has killed enough of us since they didn't. Seriously, a big red 'do not enter' sign, a warning label of some sort, how much trouble would it have been?

By the files I access, it appears that this facility could best be described as a specialized crime lab, researching toxins and their potential modes of delivery, as well as antidotes. I find a catalog of items and scan through them until I find the glass.

I hold out an impatient hand, "Teyla, hand me my laptop." She looks around in confusion as to where it is located so that I try and fail to snap my fingers with the nitrile gloves on my hands. "In the pack, there on the floor." She hands it over and after a speedy interface connection, I begin downloading the information. The file is very thorough; I'll give the Ancients that, even if their safety protocols could have used some improvements. It includes a detailed chemical composition, diagram of the chemical structure, information on everything from routes of delivery to all too familiar symptoms of exposure. I scan it quickly and feel the bile rise in my throat when I read that death is imminent within approximately forty hours if the antidote isn't administered. Antidote… antidote… antidote… "Yes!" I exclaim when I finally find the file. Ford and Teyla crowd around the consol at my exclamation. "There's an antidote," I tell them as I scan through the listing of chemical formulas describing the compounds necessary to concoct the life-saving serum.

Ford furrows his brow. "Do you know what those represent?" he asks pointing a finger at the formulas on the screen.

"Ah, some," I admit. It's been a while since I've had a chemistry class. "That one appears to be lactic acid, but some of these others, I'm not sure about."

"Do you know why this glass is coated with the poison?" Teyla asks.

"Not yet, but it's probably in here somewhere. But, we need to get these to Carson, so he can start work. We don't have much time."

We leave, meet the decon team at the transporter, doff the suites and head up to the infirmary. I hand the laptop over to Carson with the file designations then ask about John.

"He's alert, but a wee bit disoriented. Dr. Weir is with him now, but he's convinced himself that he was injured during an off-world mission and won't stop asking for you and the rest of the team."

I nod my understanding and start walking backwards toward his room even as I tell Carson, "Ford and Teyla are finding Kavanagh to assist with the chemistry." He lets out a moan, but I tell him. "You're going to need all the help you can get; we're under a time crunch."

"Time crunch?"

"If we don't have something in about twenty-four hours, we're not going to need it."

He wraps his arms forlornly around the computer. "Great, pressure. As if my stress level wasn't high enough. If I keel over from hypertension in the middle of all this, I'm blaming you and the Major."

"Sorry, Carson. Take some beta blockers and get to work," I call over my shoulder as I turn and head into John's room.

"John, they are fine. No one else was hurt. They should be here soon; you just need to calm down." Elizabeth stands on one side of his bed, trying to reassure him and restrain his feeble attempts to lift from the bed.

"Yes, unlike some people, I know what 'don't touch anything' means," I say as I approach his other side.

"McKay," he breathes out groggily but a small smile cuts across his face as I move into his line of sight. "Ford…Teyla?"

"They're fine, running an errand for me right now, but should be here in a few minutes."

"Nice hair," he tells me and I realize that the removal of the hazmat suite over my sweaty head has my hair standing on end.

I make a half hearted attempt to flatten it. "Yes, well, it seems to work so well for you, I figured what the hell, can't hurt. Might even get one of the space bimbos to notice me, like decorative plumage on a bird."

Elizabeth plasters a fake smile on her face as she asks, "Any luck in the lab?"

I tilt my head toward the door, "Carson has the data if you want to see. He could probably use your help in interpreting the Ancient text."

She nods, gives John a final pat on his arm with a promise to return later and leaves us alone.

I pull up a chair and lean forward, "So, you look like shit. How do you feel?"

"Pretty much the same. Keep shivering, but not really cold."

He tries to lift his hand to show me but I cover it loosely with my own, feeling the trembling as I trap it on the mattress. "Probably just the drugs," I reassure him, "I'm sure it'll stop soon." Then I change the subject, trying my best to ignore his symptoms. "Do you remember what happened?"

He rolls his head to the side and regards me with hazy hazel eyes, "Cave in?"

I chuckle. "My god, your delusions of grandeur make even Kirk appear introverted. Leave it to you to turn a shelf falling on your head into something as death-defying as a cave in."

He squints in confusion. "I'm here because of a shelf?"

"Technically, you're here because of a glass." And his confusion just escalates, so I tell him, "But that's really not important right now."

He stares at me for a moment and I find I'm unable to meet his eyes. "Rodney, what aren't you telling me?"

I sigh because I really didn't want to have to tell him this. But then, who better? "You were exposed to something, a toxin."

His eyes widen slightly and he licks his lips. "Bad?"

"Bad is such a relative term, there are so many degrees of bad, and unfortunately we've experienced most of them. I'm thinking maybe we should rearrange the furniture in your room, give this feng shui concept a go…"

He interrupts my attempt at a digression. "Any as bad as this?"

I flash back to the way he crumpled like a discarded candy bar wrapper in the hallway, the Ancient text describing imminent death in less than two days. I force myself to maintain his gaze. "Not many," I admit and I feel his hand clench beneath mine. I squeeze his fist as I tell him, "But Carson has the recipe for the antidote, so here soon you won't have an excuse to just lie around and blow off work. If you keep this up, I'll be released for duty before you."

"You wish," he tells me with a smirk, but the tension in his hand doesn't lessen.

_No_, I think, _that's the last thing in the universe I wish right now._ What I wish is that I couldn't feel his hand trembling on the sheet, or see the way he can hardly focus on me, or hear that his voice has barely risen above a sleepy whisper during our entire conversation. What I wish is that I could come up with some snappy comeback and pretend that none of this is as desperate as it is. What I get is Ford and Teyla entering the room and a welcome distraction from my own hopeless thoughts.

**T plus 19 hours 4 minutes**

I lie in my bed floating somewhere between waking and dozing. In that hazy gray place where all the answers seem so obvious, then you wake to realize that your idea for attaining cold fusion using pineapples and jumper cables probably won't work, but damn if it didn't seem feasible just a few minutes earlier.

I hover in this in-between world, loitering about in my own thoughts, thinking of ways to power the shield, the stargate, the rest of the city, dismissing the notion of a pineapple, because that sure didn't work out the last time, although the ZedPMs do look an awful lot like the fruit. Actually, they look a lot like the glasses you get tropical drinks in at the Chinese restaurants that serve flaming poo-poo platters. Just add rum and an umbrella and you'd have one of the ten dollar concoctions at Emperor's Palace. Man, what I wouldn't give for some of their crab wontons right now. Oh, and some real, honest to god, spicy Szechwan chicken. Wait, I wasn't thinking about food, I was solving our power problems. Right, right; power problems now, eating Chinese food off the stomach of certain blond astrophysicists later.

You know, somewhere in the Ancient's database, they have to have instructions on how to build a ZedPM. I mean, the things didn't just build themselves. Hell, General O'Neill built one out of a staff weapon and supplies he found in the janitor's closet. The man has the attention span of a fruit fly and he built a damned ZedPM. Granted he had the knowledge of the Ancients downloaded into his brain at the time. What a colossal waste that was; kind of like downloading the data from a Cray into one of the little pocket calculators you get free at the bank, with much the same total system overload result.

Why do things like that never happen to me? To someone who could actually handle that sort of data dump? Why do they always happen to the one that can barely tie his shoes without assistance? I mean, seriously, Sam Carter, brilliant mind, brilliant body, legs that could probably wrap around my waist twice and still reach the remote with her toes…but I digress. No, Sam could have handled it, or at least had the decency to record what she was doing. Daniel Jackson probably could have handled it if it had knocked away some of that useless linguistics information he has cluttering his mind. Hell, Teal'c probably could have handled it better than O'Neill. But no, it bypassed all three of them because someone else couldn't keep his hands to himself. Completely squandered away an opportunity there, a true crime against humanity. And people thought the Hindenburg was a tragedy.

No, what I need is some way to access the Ancient's data intentionally; similar to the way O'Neill did unintentionally. Unfortunately, we have yet to find a handy little port that can reach out and grasp my head, thus imparting the wisdom of the Ancients to one so deserving as myself. And don't think I haven't looked. Regrettably, nothing is ever that easy for me and I'll have to come up with an interface of my own. Now, I know the pineapples won't work, but the jumper cables…Eh, probably not. It should be something a little more integrated; something that provides a kind of Vulcan mind meld with the system. Something that would feed information to me while I feed information back to it. Maybe I could modify the stasis chamber. Hell, Sheppard's in there now, I could use him for a trial run. Not to download the entire database, of course. I mean he's bright and all, but he's not…well, me. But, maybe we could just test it out.

And now I'm in the room, working on the controls, attaching the wires, running the probes so that John is completely incorporated into the system. I power up the consol and the unit glows to life. Sheppard glows to life, as well; in a brilliant blinding white that shines through my hands I raise to block the light. I suddenly realize I don't need a ZedPM, because I can just let the system feed off of John and everything will be all right. I can just let it eat away at the life that still remains in him. Let it suck him drier than any Wraith could imagine doing. But in return we'll have the shield, we'll have the power, we'll have the gate back to Earth. And I find myself smiling at the possibilities as the intensity of the light steadily grows and John's life is steadily white-washed away.

I open my eyes with a gasp; stare at the ceiling above my bed for a few seconds as I listen to, as much as feel, the pounding in my chest. What the hell was that? Crap like that could keep Heightmeyer digging through her textbooks on dream symbolism for a week. I can only imagine what Freud would have to say about dreams where you use your dying best friend as a glorified Duracell to protect everyone else from life sucking aliens. After experiencing it firsthand, I'm even tempted to search out a padded cell for myself for a while. But, no, that would be too much of a treat; a nice quite room, comfy walls to lean against, maybe some good meds to keep me company. Sigh.

The soothing thought of solitary confinement has calmed my beating heart and I decide I should probably get out of bed. I roll over, glancing at the clock and see that it is still a few hours before Ford and Teyla are expected back. Radek and I got them through the gate, but it was midday on the planet, so the plan was for them to lie low until dark then move in on the target. Elizabeth had been outraged that we had pulled such a stunt, at least that's what she said, vocally, in front of the entire oncoming morning staff. But I could see the relief settle into her eyes, even as she berated the two of us. She can thank me later for going against orders, or not. Honestly, I could care less. Let her get her panties in such a wad that she can't sit without smiling, just do it on her own time. I've got more important things to attend to, like finishing the disassembly of a certain bowl-covered box.

I push myself up and scrub my face with my hands, noting the stubble with the same ambivalence as the pile of discarded clothes in the corner. I should shower. I should shave. I should eat. I should go check the stasis chamber… I should shower.

But if I do that then I'm just one step closer to having to go check the stasis chamber and god, I'd rather sit and be lectured by Elizabeth on my blatant disregard for blahdy, blah, blah than walk into that room and see John standing there in suspended animation. I flop back on the bed, curling up snuggly around my pillow.

My lethargy is interrupted by a knock on my door, or should I say loud pounding. "Rodney, you are to wake up now. No more hiding in dark room wallowing in self pity. Say last 'woe is me' and open door."

Goddamned Czech. What the hell did I ever do to Sheppard that he would curse me with a last request that was spawned from some East European hell? Did he not think that just wanting to save his life would be enough motivation to get him out of that chamber? Did he think he had to assign a totalitarian cheerleader to me as well?

I stagger out of my bed, open the door and scowl as I lean against the door frame. He takes a step back, blinking and pushing his glasses up. "Ah, it is worse than in most horrible nightmare. I have found animals dead on road that look and smell better than you."

"Radek, what do you want? Because I really just want to go back to bed."

"Want? I want for you to gargle with whole bottle of mouthwash before you are used as number one weapon against Wraith."

"Radek…" I grit the name between my clenched teeth.

"I need assistance in lab, but first you must shower so as not to attract Atlantean equivalent of flies with stench of rotting corpse."

I hang my head in defeat. "Fine, fine. Give me fifteen minutes."

"I will wait here. Keep medical examiner from trying to haul your body to morgue by mistake."

With a growl at the back of my throat, I shut the door in his bespectacled face. True to my word, I exit my room fifteen minutes later, completely showered, shaved, and freshly dressed and we head to the lab after a quick detour to the cafeteria. Once there he hands me a welding helmet, gloves, and acetylene torch.

"What are these for?" I ask apprehensively.

"I need you to heat metal while I bend it." He pulls down the face shield of his own helmet.

"Okay, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but, what the hell are you working on?"

"Get well soon present for Major." And even though I can't really make out his expression through the tinted face piece, I know he is smiling cheerfully.

"Should I even dare to ask what it is?"

"No, you will ruin surprise. Now, put on helmet and light torch or I won't finish in time."

I start to protest. Then, with a shrug, I figure, what the hell, it might be a pretty good way to waste a few hours and avoid the stasis room. So I go to work on the copper tubing clamped to the table.

**T minus 12 hours 56 minutes**

"Well, the good news is that we have deciphered most of the ingredients for the antidote and believe that we can obtain them easily enough." Carson stands at the foot of Sheppard's bed as he begins his briefing, his eyes red from working through the night. We've forgone the conference room in favor of the hospital room so that John can hear what he has to say.

I sit in my chair on his right while Ford and Teyla stand to his left. Kavanagh stands just behind Carson, arms crossed with a scowl on his face, black stocking cap still successfully obscuring his braids. He has also pulled an all-nighter, although you wouldn't know it to look at him. I find this surprising, as the undead rarely look so refreshed after missing a night of feeding on the souls of the damned. I make a mental note to have Carson do a head count of his staff; make sure he's not a hapless technician short somewhere.

From her seat near the foot of the bed, Elizabeth asks, "You said most, are there some you still can't identify?"

Carson glances back at Kavanagh with a frown. "We seem to have a disagreement about what one of them is."

I look between Carson and Kavanagh; finally deciding on trusting whatever academic body awarded Kavanagh his PhD in chemistry and address him. "What do you think it is?"

With a smug glance at Carson, he responds, "It is definitely a plant directive. Possibly, something in the morphine family, but more complex than anything I've seen on Earth. Given the formula, I'd say it's close to diacetylmorphine but with a longer carbon chain."

"Diacetylmorphine? Isn't that heroin?" I ask in surprise.

"Yes," Kavanagh concurs, "although the chemical structure is closer to cocaine. It's rather bizarre."

"And makes absolutely no sense if you read the accompanying Ancient text," Carson interjects.

"How can you trust the text when the formula is right there?" Kavanagh demands.

Elizabeth holds up a hand. "Enough. Dr. Beckett, what does the text say?"

"It talks about Wraith's blood, with instructions on how to process a dried liquid, which makes me believe that this is some compound found in their blood."

Kavanagh rolls his eyes so hard that his head follows right along. "This is ridiculous! Have you ever heard of a morphine-like substance being found in any creature's blood?"

Carson crosses his arms with a shake of his head. "We are only just beginning to understand how the Wraith feed. It would not surprise me in the least if they did have some sort of compound that assisted with their feeding."

"Gentlemen!" The two stop the argument that they are quickly descending into with Elizabeth's exclamation. "Thank you. Now, Carson, can you still use the tissue sample from the Wraith arm that was collected to determine if the compound is present?"

He shakes his head. "I would have to process it as explained in the data file and there isn't enough blood left to do that. I hate to say it, but we need a fresh sample."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just a minute." John raises a shaky hand from the bed. "No one is going after a Wraith."

"Sir, we captured one before," Ford supplies, "we could capture one again."

John shakes his head, "That was a controlled situation with the locket as bait. We don't have that luxury anymore."

"Major," I interject, "this may be your only chance…"

Before he can protest again, Teyla asks, "This heroin that you speak of, does it alter a person's behavior?"

Carson perks up at her question. "Yes, it can, among other things."

"There is a plant with a dark red sap, so dark that it is almost black, it is known as Wraith's Blood. Some people dry the liquid and ingest the powder. It causes visions, sometimes pleasant, other times horrific, it can cause the person to become violent, sometimes it kills the user."

Kavanagh looks to Carson. "This must be it." When Carson nods in agreement, he leans toward Teyla. "Can you get some of this powder?"

"There are those that trade it, others that grow the plants on highly guarded worlds."

"And you know how to get to these worlds?" Elizabeth asks.

Teyla nods, but I can see the fear in her eyes, which causes a shiver to run through me. For a woman that went one on one with a Wraith with just a couple of sticks for defense, fear is a rare emotion. "I know of one where they grow it."

John can see the fear as well. "Teyla?"

She tries to smile, "I can take a team there, but it must be small. Unless a person is invited, it is rare for anyone to return. Like I said, the crops are very securely guarded. Stealth is the best plan for acquiring the plants."

John shakes his head, "No."

A symphony of "what?" and "why not?" arises from the room, my own included.

He raises his voice, expending a great deal of strength to do it, "I said, no. I'm not risking the lives of others just to try and save me."

"Are you sure, Major?" Elizabeth asks and I can see the same hope I have that he will change his mind.

"Positive."

She nods her head in understanding. "Very well, I won't authorize any missions to obtain the plant."

"Thank you," he tells her then gives me a pointed look to reinforce his demand.

I frown at him then turn back to Teyla. "You said people trade the powder. Can you get some of that?"

"Yes, I believe I can. Small amounts are used medicinally by my people; I should be able to obtain a sample on the mainland."

"We could at least analyze that to test the hypothesis," Carson acknowledges. "If it is what we hope, can we get more?"

"I know an address for a planet where we can get more." She places a reassuring hand on John's arm. "Don't worry, Major, the world is perfectly safe. I have traveled there many times. Although those that trade the powder are not the most reputable, they are a very minor risk."

John sighs but nods his consent.

"Great!" I rub my hands together happily. "So, Teyla can go to the mainland to get the sample for analysis then Ford, Teyla, and Kavanagh can go trade for more."

"What?" Kavanagh demands. "Why me?" Neither Ford nor Teyla look any happier than the chemist.

"Because there is only one of two reasons someone goes into chemistry: bombs or drugs. I've seen you around explosives and you're way too twitchy, so I'm going to have to go with the whole 'better living through street pharmaceuticals' motivation." He opens his mouth to protest but I hold up a hand. "Besides, you know the composition of what we're looking for better than anyone else and how much we need. No reason to waste time training someone else up for the job."

"Yes, well, time brings up another problem," Carson admits reluctantly. We all look at him expectantly and he continues. "The text is very specific about how the antidote must be prepared and by my calculations; it will take almost two days to carry out."

I feel a sickening numbness settle over me. "But that's longer than the time necessary for the toxins to become lethal."

"I know," Carson agrees sadly. "I believe the drugs we've administered will buy us some time, but I'm afraid it won't be enough. This is why it was used as a poison in an assassination. If you don't have the ingredients for the antidote in hand, the victim has almost no chance of survival."

"Assassination?" Elizabeth asks.

"Aye. The file Rodney provided tells about how the glass was evidently coated with the poison and used at some sort of state dinner. The person that drank from the glass developed symptoms within a matter of minutes and died within a few hours; of course they would have ingested some of the poison as well. But the person that served the glass developed symptoms almost twelve hours later, just like the Major. They were able to save her, although it took some special intervention in order to come up with an antidote."

"What sort of intervention?" John asks with trepidation from the bed.

"She was put in stasis until the antidote was ready."

"You mean the stasis chamber where we found the alternate Weir?" I ask.

"Precisely," Carson tells us with finality.

I can't seem to stop the sudden panic that arises at the thought of that small chamber. It brings back too many unbeckoned memories of waking up coated in blue slime surrounded by glass. But if it will keep him alive, I'm sure John will be willing to go through with it.

I look to him and he wears the same wide-eyed expression I'm sure I do. "Well, there's no way in hell I'm going back in any fucking tank!"

Then again, I could be wrong.

**T plus 27 hours 38 minutes**

"They're on their way," Peter tells me across the radio and I drop the copper coil I'm holding for Radek and move at a lopsided jog for the gateroom.

Radek skids to a stop behind me as we enter the control room at the same time the wormhole disengages. I barely glace at Elizabeth, completely ignoring the disapproving frown she shoots in my direction, as I make my way down the stairs to the two forms standing, and I use that term loosely, on the gate platform. Teyla is obviously favoring one leg as she leans heavily against Ford. Ford, himself, is bent over at the middle, apparently cradling his ribs, so that they both appear hunched and worn. They are covered with mud and scrapes and bruises that are darkening before my eyes.

I'm about to call for Carson when Elizabeth does it instead, leaving me free to approach them. I take Ford's arm and Radek does the same for Teyla, walking them both to the stairs. "Sit, sit," he tells them, and then looks worriedly at me.

"Don't worry," Ford assures us, "nothing more serious than a few cracked ribs and a twisted knee."

With a grimace I squat in front of them, almost fearful to ask now that they are here. I lick my lips, "Did you…?" I can't finish the question, afraid that they risked their lives, came back battered and beaten, yet empty handed.

Teyla lifts her face, one cheek swollen and purple, but she smiles and hands me the pack she clutches tightly in her hand. "We were successful."

I break into a wide smile myself, tear open the pack and see that it is crammed full of stalks oozing a black red. "You did it!" I shove the pack toward Radek. "They did it!"

He returns the smile and starts laughing, patting Ford on the back. "You did it!"

Ford winces from the rough treatment, but laughs too as he roll his eyes, "Of all the things I thought I would do coming to Atlantis, the last thing on the list had to be fighting a drug lord's army." He leans back exhaustedly against the stairs and I start laughing as well.

"What happened? Were you captured?" By the looks of them, they definitely had a run in that involved a physical scuffle.

"We were taken at one point," Teyla informs me with frustration bordering on embarrassment.

Ford shakes his head. "Nah, doesn't count if they never actually got us into the cell."

And I can't help but laugh again. I want to say thank you, but it seems so insignificant, so insufficient, so totally lacking in the magnitude of what they have accomplished. But I have to do something, or I'm going to start bouncing like an excited Chihuahua, so I take Teyla's face in my hands and kiss her firmly on the lips. "You did it!" I tell her shocked expression.

She pushes me back, looks with concern from me to Ford and Zelenka, the guards around the gate, the staff in the control room. "Dr. McKay…" she starts. "You can't…" she tries again, and I'm getting a little concerned by the wide-eyed panic I see, the trapped animal tension in her movements.

But before I can ask what's wrong the medics are here and taking care of her. Carson squats next to Ford, but I pull him away and hand him the backpack. "Here, time to get to work."

His response is similar to my own; bright yet disbelieving smile, a pat on Fords back. He calls one of the nurses over to work on Ford and he is gone with the pack.

I sink to the stairs beside the Lieutenant as the nurse takes his vitals. "I can't believe you got it." I can't seem to stop smiling.

"Yeah, well, I can't believe you did that to Teyla," he tells me with a shake of his head.

I shrug, too happy to care about any social faux pas I may have committed. "It was just a little kiss, she'll get over it. I mean, it's not like I proposed marriage or anything."

He grimaces. "Well, technically…"

"What? Wh..what did I do?" The look on his face is not reassuring me.

"Doc, have you ever seen Athosians kiss?"

"Honestly, I've never really had much interest in Athosian mating rituals."

"Well, maybe you should have, because Athosians only kiss in private and only people that they are very intimate with." I suddenly feel the blood rush to my face, then drain away as he stresses, "Very, very intimate. That's why they do that head touching thing in greeting."

"So, what I just did… I just… And she thinks…" I seem to have lost the ability to form complete sentences.

"Man, you might as well have been doing the deed right there on the stairs." He gives me a disapproving shake of the head.

"The deed? You don't mean… But I didn't… It was just… THE deed? What? What do I do now?"

The nurse helps him to his feet and he tells me. "Start picking out a china pattern."

"What!" He can't be serious. I search his face for any sign that he is joking, bluffing, any tell that he may have. There is nothing.

"The Athosians don't have shotguns, but I'm sure they have something just as persuasive to push you down the aisle."

"But, I didn't… It wasn't…" I call after him, but he is already being wheeled away to the infirmary, Teyla one gurney ahead of him.

Radek comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. "Not to worry. I brought tuxedo with me for just such occasion."

**T minus 10 hours 24 minutes**

I find him in the stasis room, sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall. He's staring at the chamber, long arms draped across his propped knees, still wearing the scrubs from the infirmary. He hasn't noticed me, so I step back into the hall and key my radio. "Found him." Carson comes across bombarding me with a string of questions. "Not now," I tell him and remove the radio as I walk back into the room.

It had been Carson who had come to my lab almost an hour ago in a near panic that John was missing. Ford had gone to get him something from the cafeteria, John had been left alone for the first time since he had collapsed, and he had seen his chance and ran. The last time John Sheppard had disappeared, the results had not been pleasant, even if it really had been his clone. Still, that memory was incredibly fresh in Carson's mind and fears that his original self would follow in his clone's footsteps were written plainly across his face when he barreled into the room.

At first I had dismissed the notion that Sheppard had skulked away in a suicidal snit; he would never do that to me, not after Gall. He knew how that had torn at me, how the reverb of that gunshot echoing through a dead Hive ship still occasionally woke me in the night. No, not dead, not completely, not at the time we entered it, but too damned soon after. No, I couldn't believe he would do that. But the longer we went without finding him, the more I started thinking that was exactly something he would do. If his death meant no one would risk their lives in an attempt to save him, then just maybe I had been wrong about what he would be willing to make me suffer through. He was self sacrificing to the point of self destruction, able to justify away his own well being for the betterment of others in a flurry of stars and stripes that would even bring tears to Patton's eyes. I'm surprised a melodramatic musical score didn't just spontaneously compose itself and play wherever he went. The angst alone could set the molecules in the air to humming. And for a while, I wished that it would, because it sure would have made it easier to follow his theme song until I found him. In the end, I finally decided to try the last place that I knew he would want to go, and here he was.

He barely glances my way when I slide down beside him, stretching my sore leg out before me. "You know, it's not like I have nothing better to do than walk all over the damned city looking for your sorry ass."

"You could use the exercise," he tells me, never taking his eyes off the chamber.

"I could use a break from worrying about what you're up to."

"I didn't ask you to worry."

"Oh, shut the hell up. I didn't ask you to carry me through the jungle, either. In fact, I specifically told you not to, but you did it anyway, so enough with the martyr bullshit because my nerves and evidently your back can't take anymore."

He gives me a sideways glance and I can almost see that boyish glimmer in his eyes. "Like I said, you could use the exercise."

"Fine, you stay alive long enough for Carson to make the antidote and I'll let you set up an exercise regime for me of your choosing."

He seems to brighten. "Seriously? Even jogging?"

I cringe. "You mean running? Without being chased? Just for the sake of…running?"

He grins. "If you want, I'll carry my M-9; threaten you with it if you slow down."

I bobble my head with a sigh. "Sure, fine, why not? You go into stasis and I'll start jogging with you when you get out."

"Really? Wow, I never thought I'd get you to agree to go jogging."

"Well, then we're even because I never thought I'd get you to agree to go into the stasis chamber."

He shivers and I'm not sure if it's from the poison or the thought of going in the chamber. "I don't suppose you came up with some other way to buy a little time. Didn't find a spare flux capacitor sitting around?"

I fix him with a sarcastic smirk. "Sorry, Radek found one, but he blew it out trying to go back in time and watch the original filming of 'Debbie Does Dallas'."

"Well, as long as it was for a worthy cause."

"Glad you're so understanding, but that only leaves the original option."

He shakes his head. "I know it's the only way, it's just…"

"Yeah," I agree.

"I honestly don't know if I can actually make myself intentionally step back in a tank after what happened on that planet."

"It's not a tank," I insist, "it's a chamber."

He lets out a bitter laugh. "And the difference would be?"

"Tanks are operated by mysterious aliens with malicious intent; the chamber is going to be operated by me."

He bumps my shoulder with a sad smile. "And I ask again, the difference would be?"

"Asshole," I tell him, but it's hard to keep the affection out of the derogatory.

He takes a deep breath. "How long do you think it will take?"

"Well, Teyla should be back soon from the mainland with the powder. If that works out to be what we hope, then I'd say a day to get the materials and two days to make the antidote."

"Three days." He seems to be considering. "Yeah, I can do three days."

I start to tell him that it could be three decades or even three millennia, and he wouldn't know the difference, but it doesn't really matter, because I would know. And that is really what makes the concept of suspended animation so frightening, the fact that reality just ceases to exist while you're under. It had seemed like five minutes had passed when we came out of those tanks, then we found out it had been three weeks. You can't help but extrapolate out to how long we would have been there, completely oblivious and yet completely helpless to the world around us, if not for our clones. For a couple of control freaks like us, that is probably the most terrifying experience imaginable.

He looks at me directly for the first time since I came in the room. He wraps his trembling arms around himself and I do my best not to notice. "Listen, if for some reason the antidote doesn't work…"

"It will work," I reassure him.

"But if it doesn't…"

"It will work." I leave no room for argument.

"Fine, it'll work, but if something happens and Carson drops it on the way to give it to me or…whatever. I don't want you to leave me in here. Staying in there, frozen like that…"

"Technically, you won't be frozen, although the unit will significantly lower your body temperature…"

"Way too much information, McKay."

"Sorry, but it really is quite fascinating."

"Save it until after, then. But the point is, being kept suspended like that…I'd rather be dead."

"I'd rather the antidote worked and you came out of this alive."

"Well, yeah, that is kind of the obvious first choice. I'm just saying that if it doesn't work out that way…"

"It will."

"Will you just shut up for a minute, this is important." I clamp my lips closed around my comment regarding the anomaly that he could ever make an important statements and he continues. "As far as I'm concerned, this is a one shot deal. People are willing to risk their lives for me and as touched as I am, that doesn't mean I like it. They get one chance, then I want it over. One way or the other, it ends in three days."

"Just to clarify, three days was an estimate…"

"Three days, McKay." He fixes me with a firm stare that would have any of his men, even Bates, snapping off a textbook perfect salute and crisp 'yes, sir'.

Fortunately for both of us, I'm not one of his men. But even I know that you pick your battles. There is a time and place for everything and I'm starting to think that he will be much more open to listening to my side of the argument when he's comfortably suspended in the stasis chamber. Besides, his shaking is even more obvious and I want to get him back to the infirmary. I frown. "Fine, three days." He nods in satisfaction. "More or less," I add in a mumble.

"McKay!"

"John, give me some credit here. The thought of you going into that chamber makes me want to hyperventilate. I'm not going to leave you in there one minute longer than necessary. If there isn't a chance to save you, I swear I will take you out. It's not like I'm going to play Jabba the Hut and display you like a glorified wall hanging in the gate room."

He smiles. "You know, I hadn't thought about the whole Han Solo potential of the situation."

"Well, it's not exactly carbonite we're talking about here. It's not even a solid you'll be encased in, more of a gas and energy field…"

"Doesn't matter. I'd much rather be compared to Han than Kirk."

"Well, if you didn't act so much like Kirk…"

"Han Solo was a kick ass pilot; he had a sweet ride…"

"Ha! You're comparing the Puddle Jumper to the Millennium Falcon?"

He scowls as he regards me meaningfully. "And no one could understand a single word his best friend said."

"Well, Wookies and their speech impediments, what are you going to do?"

"So what's your excuse?"

"Oh, ah, ha, ha, ha. Fine, you want to pretend you're Han Solo, then by all means let your imagination take you to a galaxy far, far away. Although, technically, we are already in a galaxy far, far away and I think even Darth Vader would go running for his mommy if he had to deal with the Wraith."

"Yeah, who would have guessed that ole' Darth was really just a mama's boy with anger management issues."

"Just don't expect me to declare my love for you as you go into stasis."

He bumps my shoulder again. "Don't worry, Rodney, I know."

I regard him blandly. "I really feel I should point out that I am the person that has promised to take you out of stasis when the time comes, so you might want to at least try to stay on my good side."

"So you have a good side?"

"Not to alarm you, but you haven't really seen my bad side."

"Well, in that case, let me officially go on record and apologize for anything that I have done in the past or may do in the future that could bring such an apocalyptic phenomenon to fruition."

"Apology accepted. Now, can we get you back to the infirmary? I have a stasis chamber to run a diagnostic on before I trust it with your life."

"Hell, I was ready to go back to the infirmary almost twenty minutes ago. I just can't stand up."

I roll my eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "You really didn't think this whole escape thing through very well, did you?" I pull out my radio and prepare to request a medteam from Carson.

"Now, when I'm in stasis, I won't be able to hear you, right?"

**T plus 33 hours 9 minutes**

"Are you sure you're doing it right?" I ask as I lean over Carson's shoulder.

He takes a scalpel and runs another long line down one of the Wraith Blood stalks. As soon as he does, the dark red sap begins to ooze out. "No, Rodney, I'm not."

"Because, I'm not sure if you're going to get enough extract if you don't do it right."

I can see his hand start to shake as he makes the next incision. "Don't you have any place better to be right now?"

"Well, I could go tell Ford and Teyla that they may have to risk their lives again to get more plants because you aren't extracting the resin correctly."

He slams the knife down on the table. "Listen, I have no idea how to do this. The instructions for the antidote don't cover this step and I am basing it completely on a BBC special I saw once about opium production. Now, if you have any better suggestions on how to obtain the extract, then you are bloody well welcome to try it yourself. But if you don't, then sit down and shut your yap, or better yet leave."

"My god, don't they offer classes on pharmacology in medical school, or did you skip that one in favor of the one on bleeding chickens and casting bones?"

He closes his eyes and for a second I think he's going to pick up the scalpel again, but he seems to think better of it and turns on me. "Pharmacology classes teach you how medications work, not how they are manufactured. All I know about that is they are made in a nice factory somewhere, and every month or so, a well dressed young man named Kyle or Marcus or something of the like shows up, takes you out to a lovely steak dinner, drops off a few cases of samples along with several logo note pads, pens, and coffee mugs, some snazzy little displays and expects you to write a prescription now and again for the product he represents."

I scowl at him. "So basically, the Major's life is dependent on how well you paid attention to a television show?"

"Yes, Rodney, that about sums it up." He picks up the blade and returns to his slicing.

"Sorry, Carson, not good enough. I'm going for reinforcements." I turn and walk toward the door.

"Fine," he tells me, not looking up from his work, "you do that. Just be sure to take your time."

I make my way to the infirmary through deserted halls. The morning crew won't be coming on for another couple of hours. As a result, the infirmary is still dark, with just the dim glow of lamps throughout. I go straight into the curtained off area where Kavanagh is recuperating from his bullet wound. The last thing in hell that I want to do right now is ask him for help, but seeing as Carson's experience with pharmaceuticals can be summed up as schmoozing with drug reps, I have a feeling Kavanagh is the only one with the proper experience to save John's life.

I pull back the curtains and with a sigh realize that Radek has struck again. At least this time he didn't have to drug him, as Carson had taken care of that. Kavanagh sits propped up in his hospital bed, mouth open with a painkiller-induced snore. His braids have been twisted into perfect honey bun swirls on the sides of his head. By the scraps of a cut away scrub top that I see in the trashcan near his bed, I can tell that Radek has put our welding creation to use. Well, no time to worry about that now, although I'm sure I'll see the photos soon enough as well as hear all about it in Elizabeth's office in the near future.

I walk over to the side of the bed and call, "Kavanagh." He doesn't move. "Kavanagh!" He still doesn't respond and for a moment I'm jealous because Carson never seems to drug me into oblivion when I'm in here. I note the bandage on his upper arm where the bullet was removed and poke at it sharply with my index finger. "Kavanagh!"

His eyes fly open with an exclamation of pain as he grabs at the offended appendage. He looks at me with blurry eyes, squinting for lack of his glasses. "McKay?"

"Hey. Is your arm bothering you? Gee, that's too bad. Listen, since it seems to be keeping you awake anyway, I need you to come down to the lab and help Carson."

He sits up and looks around completely disoriented, still holding his arm. "Is there a problem with an experiment?"

"Well, you could say that. Here. You'll probably want this." I shove his black stocking hat at him as I start pulling him up from the bed. "And for god's sake, put on a shirt."

He looks down at his naked chest, something I could have gone my entire life without seeing, "Shirt?"

I leave the curtained room, find a storage cabinet and rummage until I find one, then toss it back at him. "No use traumatizing more people than we have to," I tell him, then with several snaps of my fingers, "Come on, come on, let see a little hustle here."

With a dazed expression, he puts on the scrub top and looks around as if he can't seem to remember what he's looking for. I take his glasses from the nightstand and place them on his face. "There, great, good as new. Let's go." I start for the exit, realize he isn't following me and roll my eyes as I grab his arm to start him moving. He lets out a yelp as my hand closes around his injury. "Oh, is that still bothering you?" I ask innocently.

We move down the hall until we reach the lab Carson is using to prepare the antidote. Kavanagh still has a hazy expression but he seems to perk up a little when he sees what Carson has going. "Okay," I tell the chemist, "fix whatever he's doing wrong." I push him forward and Carson closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh when he sees us.

"Is that the Wraith's Blood?" Kavanagh asks in befuddlement.

"Yes, yes, try to keep up," I snap impatiently, completely ignoring the fact that he has been unconscious to the world in the medbay for the entire night.

He studies the stalks that Carson has slit, adjusts the glasses on his face, and takes the knife and pokes at the sap on a few of them. "Well, if this is anything like a poppy, this is ready to be scraped when it gets gummy like this. Then you can slit it again. It will get more extract, but the potency will go down with each generation of cuts. And we need to put it under a heating lamp, it will probably cause more sap to ooze out."

I smile and cross my arms in satisfaction, not only pleased that things are finally starting to look up for Sheppard, but also because I finally found something at which Kavanagh actually excels. Now if we ever decide to start an illicit drug cartel, I've got something to keep the man gainfully employed instead of squandering away perfectly good lab space. "How long before we have enough extract to start making the antidote?"

Kavanagh seems to consider, "I'm thinking it's going to take at least a day to get enough from the plants, with an extra twelve hours for drying."

"Another thirty-six hours?" That would put us at John's three day mark and we would still be two days out from having a completed antidote.

He frowns. "This can't be rushed. It can only go as fast as the plant secretes, and this seems to be pretty viscous."

"Of course it can be rushed, everything can be rushed," I insist.

"Not this," he shakes his head, "not unless you want to spend an extra day trying to purify it."

"But there has to be something…"

"Look, I can go right back to the infirmary if you don't want to listen to my advise." He glares at me as he reaches up to adjust his hat. His hands seem to pause on the side of his head as he feels the braided buns and his eyes widen. "What the hell did he do to my hair this time?"

I snort. "Please, we have a man's life at stake; the last thing you need to worry about is a bad hair day."

"I swear to god, McKay, this is the last straw." He starts to walk out of the room. "You just take care of this yourself, because I am sick and tired of your attitude."

Crap. This is the last thing that I need to happen, and by the near look of panic on Carson's face, I can see he feels the same way. If Kavanagh walks out, we're pretty much screwed and although I'm sure I can get Elizabeth to order him back to work, that's just more time wasted and the longer Sheppard has to stay in the chamber. I call out to his retreating back, "If you do this, I'll get Zelenka to give you the solvent for the hair goo." I honestly have no idea if Radek actually has a counteragent, but if I'm willing to lie to my best friend about how long he's going to be in stasis, then I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about lying to Kavanagh about his precious hair.

He stops and I see his shoulders slump. "Alright, I'll do it, but this shit better come out. And no more pressure to get it done faster. It takes as long as it takes, no more and no less." I reluctantly nod and he continues. "There's one more thing, and it's non-negotiable."

I roll my eyes at his requirement. "For a man with cinnamon rolls on the side of his head, you sure are demanding."

He glares at me. "You have to go away."

"What? You can't tell me…"

He folds his arms. "Either you leave or I do, it's as simple as that."

I open my mouth to speak, look to Carson for reinforcement only to find him suddenly smiling brightly at Kavanagh. I close my mouth and frown. "Fine. But the minute you're ready to start working on the antidote, you have to let me know."

"That depends on the condition of my hair at the time," he tells me as he turns back to the plants. I stand with my arms crossed, watching as the two of them confer. Kavanagh calls over his shoulder without turning around. "Are you still here?" Carson grins and clasps him on the back like the Judas he has become.

With a glare neither of them sees, I turn on my heels and head out of the lab in search of Radek. All I can think is five days. Five days in stasis instead of three. That's not too bad, I justify to myself. An extra forty-eight hours is nothing. I've worked forty-eight hours straight in the past and barely noticed it. Of course, that wasn't in a tank…sorry, chamber, and it wasn't after I had promised someone it wouldn't happen in the first place. With a growing sense of dread, I realize I'm not going to be able to put off that visit to the stasis room after all.

**T minus 17 minutes**

I study the results spooling across my laptop from the last diagnostic run on the stasis chamber with a frown. "That last modification helped, but we still get a spike during startup."

"Does it level out after startup is complete?" Radek asks as he crawls out from under a wall panel.

"Yes, it levels, but it's still elevated. If we have to sustain it for more than a couple of hours, I'm concerned about the power drain in this section of the city."

He looks over my shoulder, studying the diagram of the city and the critical systems the stasis chamber will interrupt. "Okay, cannot take desalinization units offline. Maybe scrubber units that lead to laboratories here?" He points a finger at the engineering labs several stories up.

I shake my head. "Schuller's running experiments on the jumper exhaust systems. I'd prefer not to shut him down."

"Yes, but if we reroute those systems to Section A, it may be enough to level out this section."

"What will that do to the Section A systems?"

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, causing it to poof out even more on one side. "Give me a minute, let me run simulation."

I nod and roll my neck in exhaustion as he goes to work on his own laptop. I look at my watch again, thinking I should go up and check in at the infirmary and tell myself what I have the past five or six times that I thought the same thing. What I'm doing here is more important than sitting in a chair beside his bed. Ford and Teyla and Elizabeth are taking care of that duty. We should be done here soon, then I'll go. I lean forward onto the consol, and think how wonderful it would be just to nap for a few minutes, knowing I can't. I don't even hear Carson come in the room until he calls my name.

I look up, see the tension in his eyes and feel the sinking sensation in my stomach. "What?" I demand.

"How much longer until the stasis chamber is ready," he asks calmly, a little too calmly.

"Why? What's going on?"

"He's gone back into tachycardia. His cardiac rhythm is all over the place. The drugs really aren't doing anything anymore."

"Radek," I call behind me, not taking my eyes from Carson, "how long will it take to reroute the power to Section A?"

"I have not finished simulation, I do not even know if it will work."

"Screw the simulation, how long will it take?"

"Thirty minutes, forty-five tops."

I look to Carson with the question, 'does John have that much time'? He shakes his head sadly.

"You have fifteen," I tell him.

Carson smiles weakly, "I'll go get him ready."

Radek is mumbling behind me. "Of course, fifteen minutes. No problem to complete in fifteen minutes. Will have time to finish unified field theory with free time I have left." Then he descends into what I'm sure is Czech cursing.

"I'll help," I reassure him.

"Oh, yes, with assistance of illustrious McKay, will finish in time, no problem." His voice is muffled from inside one of the wall panels. "Ego is so huge that it has created own gravitational field, will distort space-time continuum in immediate vicinity of control panels."

I roll my eyes and tell Carson, "I'll be up in ten minutes."

Ten minutes and one irritable Czech later, I'm standing in the infirmary. Ford and Teyla are geared up and ready to go on their search for the Wraith's Blood powder. They make their final assurances that they'll be back soon, goods in hand, then exit past me with confident smiles. Elizabeth gives him a squeeze on the arm and tells him she'll see him when the antidote is ready and then she too leaves.

"We should go now, Major." Carson tells him and with a weak nod of his head John attempts to sit up.

Carson and I both move to help him and I realize that the occasional tremors have become steady, passing through his body like an electrical current. I swing one of his quaking arms around my shoulder and take most of his weight as he stands from the side of the bed, noting the sheen of sweat on his face from the effort he's expending. His breathing is labored and I know that just as Carson had warned earlier, the overall muscle weakness is impacting his respiratory system. I almost regret taking the fifteen minutes to reroute the power, thinking I should have just shut down some of the systems and the consequences be damned. As it is, we'll be lucky to get him into the unit in time to have something worth reviving when the time comes. The thought makes my heart throb painfully in my chest.

I lower him into the wheelchair Carson is holding and we head for the transporter. I key my radio when we reach it. "Radek, is it good to go?"

"No, is not good to go. May destroy entire power grid in Section A, shut down entire control room."

Honestly, I could care less about how operational the control room is. So what if we can't dial out? I'll fix that later, after. We don't need power on our end for an incoming wormhole, so Ford and the others will have no problem coming back through. At this point I'm only going to concentrate on one crisis at a time and my current one is sitting feebly in a wheelchair by my side. "Will the stasis chamber function?"

"Of course, of course. I am professional after all. You have not cornered market on pulling miracles out of ass."

"We're on our way," I tell him and we enter the transporter.

I place a hand on John's shoulder and he looks up from his seat in the chair. I pull in a shuddering breath to rival his own. "Ready?"

"Hell, no."

"Good, neither am I," I admit. Then Carson activates the transport mechanism and for an entire microsecond all our worries are demolecularized along with our bodies and I realize it's the longest break I've had all day.

_TBConcluded_


	3. Expansion

_A/N Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback, without it, I wouldn't bother doing this. And now, the conclusion of….._

**steady state **(ste-dE stAt) _noun _ _Physics_ A stable condition that does not change over time or in which change in one direction is continually balanced by change in another

**Chapter 3- Expansion**

**T plus 73 hours 16 minutes**

"Hey. Sorry I haven't been down to see you lately, well, at all, but things have been a little crazy. We thought we had the whole power distribution problem in Section A taken care of, but then Schuller expanded into another lab without authorization and it overloaded the system. I swear, if people would just learn to follow the proper protocol, things like this wouldn't happen. Ended up wiping out all the sensors in the city. Radek and two of the other engineers spent fourteen hours crawling through the ductwork trying to find the right access panel and when they finally did, the crystal was blown out and we had to scavenge another one. Anyway, it's been a nightmare these past few days but everything is finally up and running again.

Oh, before I forget, Radek says 'hi' and he sent you this photo as a kind of get well present. I think the copper bikini turned out well and it really sets off the honeybun hair. He thought you would appreciate it. Kind of in keeping with the whole Han Solo persona you have going now, although Carrie Fisher makes a much more attractive Leia than Kavanagh. I think it's the lack of glasses…and the presence of breasts. Kavanagh hasn't seen it yet, so if you could, just keep it quiet because Radek's in enough trouble as it is.

Ends up he did have a counteragent to remove Kavanagh's braids. Problem was it removed all the hair pigmentation as well. All of it; left is pure white. You probably heard the screams down here. It put the entire city on high alert. Bates thought the Wraith were attacking and locked down the entire wing with Kavanagh's quarters and set up a perimeter around his room. A few minutes later, Kavanagh came running out, pasty faced, long white hair flowing, ranting about killing Zelenka. Sgt. Smith mistook him for a Wraith and actually shot him with a stunner. An hour later, when Kavanagh finally got the feeling back in his extremities, they had to lock down the entire wing with Radek's quarters after Kavanagh attacked him with a multichannel pipette and a pair of calipers.

Radek's under house arrest for a few days. It didn't help his case that he kept calling Kavanagh Brittany and Miss Spears during the disciplinary hearing. Although I have to admit singing 'Oops! I Did It Again' when he was being led away by the guards was a nice touch.

Yeah, things have been a little strange since you've been down here. I'm actually missing Radek singing along with his iPod, although he really has horrible taste in music. Ford's on light duty because of his ribs and he's pulled the guard station outside Radek's door, so I've been able to see him a few times even though he's not allowed to have visitors. Last time I stopped by he was listening to his women of country music collection. Have you ever heard a grown man sing 'Coal Miner's Daughter'? It takes the term disturbing to a whole new level.

Of course, Elizabeth isn't speaking to me because I disobeyed a direct order, so it would be hard to get in any more trouble with her. Carson and Kavanagh have found common ground in the form of being contrary with me and are actually bonding. Once they finish the antidote, Carson has promised to help him whip up some hair dye.

I haven't seen much of Teyla; I tend to walk off in the opposite direction if I see her in the halls. And seeing as I think we may be engaged, it looks like I'm well on my way to a marriage to rival the dysfunctionality of that of my parents. Not that Teyla wouldn't make a great catch for some guy out there. I mean, she's attractive and brave and well respected among her people. But I have a feeling she's a real Alpha female in the bedroom. She's probably the type that would climb on top of me and demand that I call her name and as hot as that would be I also find it a little frightening. I mean, I certainly perform well under pressure; it's just that I tend to bruise so easily. So, anyway, I really wish you were out because I could definitely use your advice on how to extricate myself from this one without completely destroying the expedition's diplomatic relationship with the Athosians, or if nothing else, I'd like you here to be my best man.

You know I really miss… it's just… it's just not the same without you around. For one thing, I have the whole backlog of Ancient devices that I need your help with. And you still owe me that Jumper flight. And there's no one to get me an extra helping of apple hash at dinner, or keep me from throttling the technicians when they screw up the gate diagnostics, or help me filter when we're in staff meetings, or chat with me on the radio when you're doing surveys of the city, or interrupt me in the lab just to watch a movie, or disagree with me on just about everything, or…well, I think you get the picture. It's just been…quiet without you around and…boring. I know that sounds absurd considering everything that has been going on, but it's true. It's not as much fun with you down here and me up there and that really sucks because that sort of thing never really mattered before and now it does. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I'll just be glad when you finally get out of there, that's all.

Speaking of getting out, that's what I need to talk to you about. I know it's been three days, and I know I told you it should only take three days but we ran into a snag that's held things up, so it's going to take a little longer. And I know I promised that if it looked hopeless after three days, I would take you out, but the fact is that it's not hopeless. For the first time since this all happened, it's actually hopeful. Yeah, I know, unbelievable, huh? I keep looking over my shoulder waiting for a rowboat full of Genii to show up or a Wraith Dart to buzz the city or an asteroid to fall from the sky, but so far our typical luck hasn't struck. Well, if you don't count the fact that you were actually poisoned in the first place… and Kavanagh was shot… and Ford and Teyla barely escaped an angry drug kingpin. But things have really calmed down since then, relatively speaking. The antidote is going along with no problems, your vitals are holding steady and the stasis field is fully operational, so I see no reason to remove you just yet.

Carson says two more days and the antidote will be ready. Two days isn't much, its nothing really. A piece of cake, right?"

For the first time since activating the unit, I force myself to look up, for the first time I see John in the stasis field. _This isn't so bad_, I tell myself even as my breath stutters in my chest. He stands with that same lopsided smirk that he gave me when the stasis cycle started, the same hospital scrubs, the same bed head gone wild, the same perpetual two days growth of stubble. I find that I'm actually waiting for an answer, even though I know it's not going to come, so eventually I answer for him.

"Yeah, piece of cake." I let out a sigh and swallow painfully. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry I can't take you out of there yet. And I'm sorry I've left you down here all by yourself this whole time. But I'm going to make it up to you, because if you have to stay here, then so will I. Fairs fair, right?"

He still doesn't answer me, as much as I want him to, as much as I wish he could, as much as I'm glad he can't. "Right," I answer for him again.

But two days isn't much, not compared to a lifetime, not compared to his life. I take a cleansing breath, exhale, confident in my decision and reassured by his silent concurrence. I rub my hands together as I shoot a smile in his direction. "So, roomie, what do you want to do first?"

**T plus 83 hours 5 minutes**

I look up from reassembling the blinking bowls as Radek calls my name. I almost don't hear him as I've been trying to block out the sounds of "Baby Got Back" and "Mama Said Knock You Out" being sung in an East European accent. Rap. The man actually listens to rap music. It almost makes me long for the rendition of "Stand By Your Man" he was singing the other night. I glance over at Sheppard's suspended form, momentarily envying the stasis field that buffers him from this karaoke nightmare where I have found myself trapped. "This is all your fault," I accuse in a mumble.

"Rodney, check levels now. They should have evened out."

I key up the monitor and shake my head. "They're better in Section C, but Section A still has the spike."

He comes to stand behind me and lets out an abbreviated sputter. "Is not a spike, is more of a blip."

"A blip? Need I remind you what happened the last time we had a 'blip', or should I just start removing the access panels to the ductwork now?"

He shakes his head with a small snarl. "That was not blip, that was spike. And my knees still hurt. Schuller is lucky he is already going bald."

"Just a word of advice, you might want to lay off messing with other people's hair for a while."

He sighs. "Perhaps you are right. Hair is too obvious. At least hair on top of head."

The responsible supervisory part of me wants to tell him that that is not what I was getting at, that the location of the hair being messed with is really irrelevant. But the other part of me, the part that suggested rather loudly that Schuller should save me the time and effort and go throw himself off the nearest balcony, that part is curious to see what Radek has in mind.

I decide to let the two sides battle it out for a while longer as I take the flashlight Radek holds and climb into the wall opening myself. "There has to be a way to give Dr. Rajm the power she needs to finish the fiasco Schuller started without shutting down a critical system." No, I can't go after body hair, but I can demote someone to the bottom of the food chain, and believe me, hair grows back much faster than a reputation.

"Naquedah generators were not meant to power so much, especially since the ones we have are already picking up slack for two that were destroyed."

"Don't remind me. Anytime anything happens in the city, the generators are the first thing Sheppard goes after. He tosses them out like fish treats at Sea World. Never mind that they are the only thing keeping his scrawny ass alive right now." I raise my voice with that last comment so that it will carry across the room to the stasis chamber. "Hand me those wire clippers."

Radek gives me the tool as he tells me, "Well, you did tell him how to overload generator for detonation and it was you who threw other through gate."

I don't stop working. "Yes, and the alternatives were to watch you and Ford and all the others grab your heads and keel over when your brains exploded from the nanite virus and to let that pissed off energy being suck the power dry and turn the stargate into little more than an oversized ornamental archway."

"All I am saying is…"

"What? That the moral to the story is that sometimes we do what we have to do even though it sucks having to do it? Well, I've read that story way too many times and I'm really getting sick of it. Rumor has it that some stories don't have morals; that instead they end 'and they lived happily ever after'. When the hell do I get to experience a story like that?" I make a final connection between wires. "Check the levels now."

"No better," he tells me.

I climb out and look at the readings with a resigned scowl. "You know, it is starting to look more blip-like." Radek pushes his glasses up and crosses his arms in irritation. "But, it still needs to be monitored."

Before Radek can complain about the hours he spent tweaking with the system, Lt. Ford comes in. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I need to get Dr. Zelenka back to his room before the morning shift starts."

Radek brightens when he sees Ford. "Ah, Lieutenant! So glad you are here to liberate me from slave labor camp and return me to my comfy bed in solitary confinement."

I frown at his retreating back. "If that's the way you're going to thank me for springing you, you can just stay in there tomorrow night for all I care."

"Is this promise? Will you sign papers stating this as fact?"

"You know you're miserable locked up like that," I tell him.

"Yes, yes, is horrible. All I can do is sleep whenever I want, listen to music, watch 'Girls Gone Wild' DVDs. How I will ever survive such torture, I will never know."

I frown even deeper, suddenly seeing the merits of removing body hair from annoying staff members. "You have 'Girls Gone Wild' and you made me listen to Wynona Judd?"

Ford just grins as Zelenka completely ignores me and walks past him to the transporter. "Don't worry, Doc, I'll bring him down again tomorrow. That is if you're still going to be here."

I turn back to my Ancient bowl box. "Not going anywhere," I tell him in resignation.

"So, what are you doing down here, anyway?"

I blink at the question. "Oh. I, uh, have to monitor the energy fluctuations. Wouldn't want a repeat of the sensor malfunction."

"Right." And I choose to ignore the patronizing tone he uses. "Hey, you're not staying down here and having coma talks with the Major are you?"

"Coma talks?" I ask innocently.

"Yeah, you know, like on those old buddy cop shows like 'Starsky and Hutch'. One of them would get shot and the other would sit by the bed telling his partner what a great guy he is, asking him not to die, begging him to just wake up. You know, coma talks."

I roll my eyes. "First of all, Lieutenant, Major Sheppard is not in a coma, he's in stasis. If I wanted him to wake up, all I would need to do is push a few buttons and he would be awake, no begging required. Not that that would be the best thing to do right now, but it could easily be done. Second, you saw what happened when we lost the sensors. Now, if you don't think it's important to monitor the energy fluctuations, I can always leave. But don't complain when I volunteer you to climb through the ductwork and assist Dr. Zelenka when he has to make additional repairs."

He holds up a defensive hand. "Hey, I'm not complaining, just asking a question, that's all." I cross my arms and acknowledge his pseudo apology with a nod and a small glower. "See you later, Doc," he tells me, then turns with a quick salute to the stasis chamber. "Major." He grins at me one last time then heads out to sneak Radek back into his quarters.

"Coma talks," I snort and shake my head as I turn to address John. "Ha! Can you believe him?"

**T plus 98 hours 14 minutes**

"Dr. McKay?"

My name is accompanied by a light tap on my shoulder that I choose to ignore. I pull the blanket around me tighter, turning away from the female voice and touch, hoping she will take the hint and see that I would rather be sleeping. There is another tap and I can only hope that I'm wrong and Elizabeth hasn't done as she has threatened and sent Heightmeyer to see me. I had thought when she sent the cot and food down, Elizabeth had decided to let me stay and work in peace. However, a second call of my name by a woman's voice leads me to think the worst. With a suppressed groan I roll over, deciding at this moment that a fabricated teary-eyed confession that John and I are secretly lovers might be enough to feed Kate's slash fetish and chase the psychologist away in search of a cold shower, or privacy, depending on how full her schedule is for the rest of the day. Consequences of any lies be damned, I'm in no mood to be told that my reaction is perfectly normal because even I know that is the furthest thing from the truth.

I open my eyes and instead of Dr. Blondielocks, I find Teyla. I jerk back in shock, pulling the blanket up modestly as I sit, even though I am fully dressed.

My sudden movement startles her as well and she takes a step back. "Dr. McKay, forgive me, I did not mean to alarm you."

"No, no, quite alright," I reassure her as my eyes dart nervously around the room, hoping against hope that someone else might be with her. "I, uh, is there something I can do for you?"

"Doctor, there is something I must discuss with you."

Oh, god. Here it comes. I knew we would eventually have to have this conversation, I was just hoping that it would wait until after Sheppard was awake and maybe he could have it with her instead. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I was hoping it would just go away and I could pretend that damned kiss had never happened. I mean, it was all so innocent at the time. I was excited. I was sleep deprived. I was stressed. I wasn't thinking rationally. This is what happens when you loosen up for thirty seconds and disregard the personal space rule. I make a silent promise to never get closer than three feet to another living person, ever again. Then realize I am breaking that promise at this exact moment as Teyla leans in with a concerned frown, the bruising still visible on her face.

"Dr. McKay, are you unwell?"

I jump to my feet and am around the other side of the power consol before she can reach out and touch me. "Fine, fine. I'm just fine, thanks for asking." I roll my eyes at how moronic I sound even to myself and Teyla's frown deepens.

"Perhaps I should request Dr. Beckett's assistance, although that is partially why I am here." She turns to leave and as tempting as it is to let her, I don't want Carson down here. Besides, we're going to have to have this conversation sooner or later, so I might as well go ahead and get it over with.

"No!" I force myself to lower my voice. "No, really, I'm fine and we really should talk about this."

"Very well. I am quite upset about some recent events and am not sure how to proceed."

I cringe inwardly but try to maintain a level face. "That's something of an understatement, but believe me I understand."

She looks at me oddly, "So you are upset about this as well?"

"Of course, who wouldn't be? I mean, it impacts me just as much as you."

"I am so glad that you understand, Doctor." She begins a lopsided pace around the room, favoring her injured knee. "I mean, given my position as a team member as well as an advisor to Dr. Weir…well, I am sure you can see how this is frustrating, even insulting."

"Insulting may be a little harsh." I bristle slightly, it's not like I wouldn't be a decent catch. "I mean I'm not without a certain amount of rank myself."

"Exactly! And that is what makes this all the more offensive."

"Offensive? Really? I can see why you may not be happy, but…offensive?"

"Then how would you describe it?"

"Uhm, well, how about a mistake?" I snap my fingers in sudden thought. "Or, misunderstanding! Yes, misunderstanding is a very good way to describe it."

"No, this is much more than a misunderstanding." Her eyes flash dangerously and I move so that the consol is between us. "This is a blatant disregard for my feelings."

"Blatant is such a strong word. It was never meant to be blatant."

She lets out a sigh, stops pacing and crosses her arms. "Perhaps you are right, Doctor. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"Me?" I can't keep the shock from my voice. "You mean I have a say in this?"

"Of course, that is why I came to see you."

"Oh, well, in that case…" I think for a few seconds. "It seems that you see this as an affront to your honor… and you somehow need to restore that honor…so how about a fight with those sticks of yours?" I know I don't stand a chance against her, hell Sheppard can barely hold his own against her, but maybe if I fall down quickly after a few light raps she'll let me off the hook.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Do you not think that is a little extreme?"

I half laugh, "Oh, and getting married because of a simple kiss isn't extreme?"

"Kiss?" she asks in confusion. "To what kiss are you referring?"

I blink at her question. "The one I gave you…in the gateroom…" Her confusion just seems to grow. "When you and Ford…" and then it dawns on me. "Ford! That lying piece of…" I turn and address Sheppard. "This is all a result of your influence on him. He was a perfectly decent young officer until he started hanging around you."

"Lt. Ford told you that we would have to get married because you kissed me?" I turn back and see an expression somewhere between bewilderment and amusement. I bobble my head in confirmation. "And you believed him?" I close my eyes in shame and nod my head. She just starts laughing. "Well, I guess the Lieutenant does not have a poker 'tell' after all."

My eyes fly open at the statement and the way she stumbles over the Earth slang. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

"Doctor, Lt. Ford and I had a great deal of time to converse on the planet before we could obtain the Wraith's Blood. He mentioned your conversation from the cafeteria and how he planned to find a way to prove you wrong. But I assure you, I was not involved in his deception." She snickers again.

"But your reaction when I kissed you, you just seemed so…" I search for the proper word.

"Surprised that a man who is so protective of his, as you say, 'personal space', would kiss me? I believe under the circumstances, that was an appropriate reaction."

"So, just to be very clear about this, we don't have to get married?"

"Oh, no!" Her eyes widen in alarm as she shakes her head in a broad arc. "Absolutely not. No, no, no, no, no."

"A simple no, stated once, would have been sufficient." I tell her with a frown. Seriously, any woman would count herself lucky to have me. I mean looks, charm, and genius to spare; what's not to love? The genetic input to any offspring alone should have them fighting over me.

Yeah, okay, I'm not buying it either. Still, she doesn't have to make it sound like I'm a leper or something. I decide to move on to another topic. "So, if this wasn't about the kiss, what are you talking about?"

"Dr. Beckett and Dr. Kavanagh will not allow me entrance to the lab where they are preparing the antidote. I merely wish to check their progress, but evidently Dr. Kavanagh has devised a way to override the locks on the doors with the assistance of Dr. Beckett's genes."

"Oh, that," I snort and start checking the energy readings on the panel. "Sorry, can't help you there. I've been on the no fly list since day one."

"No fly list? This has nothing to do with the Jumper."

I shake my head. "It's an Earth expression, it comes from…well, that isn't important. It just means I can't get in either."

She lets out a sigh. "It is so frustrating, just waiting, not being able to help."

"No?" I ask in mock surprise. "Really, ya' think?"

She seems to realize for the first time that through this entire ordeal I have played a very minor part, relying almost entirely on her and Ford, Beckett and even Kavanagh to do what I couldn't. And all in all, I've come to the conclusion that it really sucks being the Answer Man when no one is asking any questions.

With a sad smile she asks, "Why are you down here, Doctor?"

I start to feed her my typical monitoring the energy level spiel, but something in her expression silences me. "Why are you here?"

She nods in understanding, then asks, "Would you mind if I stayed a while longer?"

How many vigils have we sat together waiting for word on someone we both care about? How many has she sat with the others waiting for word about me? It's an unwritten rule about being on a team; if one member is hurt, then all the members are hurt. Believe me; it shocked the hell out of me the first time I realized that, to learn that I was part of something more than myself. It had always been me; me orbited by others, good, bad or indifferent. Only here on Atlantis, the indifference has somehow slipped away and for good or bad, I find myself connected to other people in a way that is at once bewildering and beguiling. And maybe that feeling of connection is what I have been missing out on these past several days almost as much as Sheppard's company.

With a shrug I tell her, "Be my guest." I then add, "As long as you're sure we don't have to get married."

"Positive," she assures me then goes to stand before John. "Major Sheppard, you must forgive me for not coming to see you sooner," she begins, and I realize with a sense of relief that I'm not the only one who has been missing out on the companionship being a member of Sheppard's team offers.

**T plus 121 hours 45 minutes**

"I'm telling you, he heard that joke I just told," Ford insists. "He's smirking a little more than he was a few minutes ago."

"Aiden, you are mistaken," Teyla insists right back. "His expression has not changed."

Ford just shrugs. "Sorry, but you're just not looking close enough."

I let out a weary sigh and turn off the screwdriver I'm using to reassemble the Ancient technology. "Okay, for hopefully the last time, there is no way his expression changed. He is in stasis; he's incapable of any movement. His heart is barely beating for Pete's sake; there is no way in hell he would be able to smile. Besides, it was a stupid joke, so even if he could move he still wouldn't."

Ford shakes his head, "I don't know, Doc, he sure seems to be smiling more than he was earlier."

Somewhere along the way, I let this situation get away from me. What had started out as a simple request from Teyla to stay a while longer has turned into a damned team reunion when she returned from the cafeteria bringing food and Ford along for the trip. Since then, the two of them have been down here on and off for the past day and a half, talking to Sheppard, talking to me, talking to each other, hell talking to themselves. At first the company was kind of nice, breaking up the monotony, making me feel that I wasn't completely loosing my mind to be talking to what is for all practical purposes an inanimate object. But now… I swear to god, even Dr. Phil would be telling them to shut up already.

And now Ford has developed this bizarre fascination with trying to make Sheppard react, no matter how many times I explain that it is physically impossible for such a thing to happen. It's just a matter of time before he gets a goddamned stick and starts poking at the man.

"Lieutenant," I ask him with as much subliminal meaning as I can force into the question, "isn't it about time to start your guard shift for Dr. Zelenka?"

He checks his watch, "Nah, don't worry, I still have a couple of hours."

I roll my eyes at his oblivion and with gritted teeth go back to my project. I can't explain why I decided to reassemble the box with blinking bowls. It's just that once I moved down here and got the final pieces apart, I suddenly didn't want to throw it away like I had originally. Instead, it just seemed like the most logical next step was to start to put it back together again. I still have no idea what it is supposed to do, and I still don't really care, but for an entirely different reason. Maybe it is just a Junior High shop project, but what right do I have to destroy something that evidently meant enough to someone else that it has sat around for over ten thousand years waiting for someone to come back and turn it on again? I've come to realize that there is a certain give and take to the universe; that to really appreciate the good, sometimes you have to make it through the bad. Sometimes it's as horrible as putting your best friend in stasis so that he has a chance to live, other times it's as simple as suffering through bad jokes and worse singing so that your colleagues can keep you company, still others it's as seemingly pointless as attaching a green bowl to a metal frame so that it will blink back at you when you touch it. But really, it all seems to balance out in the end.

"Rodney?" I look up at the unexpected sound of Carson's voice. Elizabeth stands behind him and both are smiling. "The antidote is ready. You can go ahead and revive him."

"Where is it?" I notice he has come empty handed and there is a part of me that just can't really accept that what he says is true without seeing proof.

"It is in the infirmary. The rest of my team will be here momentarily to move him up. But from the last time we revived someone from stasis, I know it take as few minutes before the unit will release him from the chamber."

I look to Ford and Teyla, as if to confirm that I'm really hearing what he's telling me. They both smile back cheerfully, so I do the same. "Okay, then. It's about goddamn time!"

I place my hand on the control consol and think, _Wake._ Once again the unit hums to life as it did five days ago. This time I open my eyes, watching as the chamber slowly empties of the media, the cloudy image of John becoming clearer by the second. About halfway through the process, the medical team arrives with a gurney and Carson's kit, but I barely acknowledge them. My heart rate increases in my chest and I realize I'm actually starting to shake, the jitters a combination of excitement and trepidation. I now have to face the fears I've been putting off for these past several days. Up until know my concern has been keeping him alive until the antidote could be completed. Now that it is waiting to be administered several floors above, I admit that we really don't know if it will even work. So at the same time that I'm thrilled to be removing him from the chamber, I may be signing his death warrant as surely as I activated the unit.

The unit beeps twice, indicating that the stasis is ended. He still hasn't moved, but that is to be expected, as well. The chamber maintains a supporting force field around the individual until the body awakens completely, which from our experience with the alternate Weir can take several more minutes.

"All right, then," Carson tells me with a hand on my shoulder, "let's get him moved."

Between the med team and his team mates, we manage to get Sheppard situated on the gurney. He is still not completely awake, although the tremors he was experiencing when we put him in stasis are returning.

"It's to be expected, lad," Carson reassures me when he sees my frown, "we haven't given him the antidote yet."

He quickly checks his vitals, then with a nod of his head, he signals the med team to move out to the transporter. I elbow my way into a position near his shoulder. Ford and Teyla are much more polite about it and simply follow at his feet; however they make it perfectly clear with their body language that they do not intend to move out of arms reach of the gurney.

The trip up to the infirmary is quick and uneventful. As we reach the doors, Sheppard stirs, mumbles incoherently, but doesn't open his eyes. "Major?" I call but he doesn't respond. I look questioningly to Carson as we move into the room he has prepared.

"He's coming around, but he's still mostly under." He turns to a nurse. "Let's get the IV going and I'll begin administering the antidote."

She moves in and efficiently crowds me out of the way to do her job. I move back, but a second mumble has me peeking over her shoulder. Carson grabs my arm, extracting me from the work zone, "Rodney, give us room to breathe. He'll be awake soon enough."

He injects the antidote, a translucent, ruby red liquid, into the IV stream and leans in himself. "Major Sheppard, can you hear me?"

A soft, sleepy, "Doc?" comes in response. Smiles erupt around the room.

"Aye, lad, 'tis me. Do you remember what happened?"

"Poison…Stasis…McKay…"

"Here!" I bounce forward at my name and Carson shoots a glare in my direction.

"That wasn't a page, Rodney."

I ignore him and move to the opposite side of the bed. "Major?"

His eyelids seem to flutter and Carson encourages the motion. "That's it, now. There are quite a few people anxious to see you." He frowns slightly at me as I lean in as well. "Some obnoxiously so."

The fluttering stops abruptly. In fact, everything seems to stop abruptly. With a sharply drawn breath, Sheppard arches his back slightly then goes stiff. My wide eyes follow Carson's gaze to the IV tubes, noting the bulbous of antidote has almost completely entered John's blood stream. Before I can ask what's happening, John's eyes fly open with a frightening alertness. He seems to consider Carson for a second, his eyes widening in what seems to be fear.

"Major?" Carson calls calmly. "Everything is okay. You're going to be fine."

The fear in his eyes burns away in a flash of rage and his mouth twists into a snarl. Carson stand straighter and Sheppard actually starts to rise towards him.

It is in complete bewilderment that I yell out, "John!"

He turns toward me, completely forgetting about Carson, and lunges. We go crashing to the floor, him on top, effectively pinning me to the ground with his forearm pressed heavily across my throat. I struggle for a breath that will not come, flailing against his arms and shoulders to no effect. He won't budge. I try and fail to draw breath again. He is staring at me, through me, and there is not a single shred of recognition in his eyes. I want to say his name because there is a small part of my brain that is trying to deny that any of this is happening and that if I can just say his name he will snap out of it. But with no breath I have no voice to call to him, or to even call for help.

Finally, Ford is pulling at him, Teyla helping, so that his force against my throat loosens and for a split second I can gulp air. But he fights against them, insistent on his task and pressure soon returns. Carson and one of the medical techs join in as well, and the four of them are able to pull him back enough that I can scramble out from under him.

He lets out a scream at his failure to finish me off, fighting against the four of them, trying to get back at me. I stand to the side, hand to my throat, breathing in deep breathes of blessed oxygen. Carson is yelling above John's screaming, telling the others to hold him down on the hospital bed. I realize what he's doing at the same instant John does, and Carson already has one leather restraint around his wrist before I can protest. John's screams escalate and I manage to creak out a weak "Stop!" as they secure the second.

I move back toward the bed, my voice returning, "Wait, there has to be something else…" When he hears me, Sheppard turns his attention my way, fighting even harder against the bindings, screaming with a rage I never knew he was capable of.

Carson turns to me, panting, his face taut, "Rodney, get out!"

I stop where I stand, completely caught off guard by his reaction. "No! Carson, you can't just tie him up..."

He looks to Ford then points a finger in my direction. "Get him out, now!"

John continues to scream bloody murder and fight against the restraints, never taking his hate filled eyes from me.

"John!" I call as Ford places a hand on my chest and pushes me toward the door.

I resist the attempt to move me even as he coaxes, "Come on, Doc, let's go."

I push back with a "No! Carson, you can't do this…"

All Carson says is, "Now, Lieutenant!"

Ford presses his shoulder into my chest, wrapping his arms around me and pushing me backwards toward the door. "No, get off me! Carson, don't! John! Ford, stop it! This is insane!" Ford bulldozers me through the door and the screams instantly dim but don't disappear even as it slides shut. With a final shove, Ford sends me staggering back into the hallway and assumes a protective stance in front of the door.

With a rage of my own, I start forward, intent on re-entering the infirmary. "Just who the hell do you think you are doing something like…" I stop as Ford sags, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. "Lieutenant, are you okay?"

"Hell, no!" he exclaims. "First I have to watch my CO attack you, then I have to pull him off of your sorry ass and hold him down while he gets tied to the bed, then I have to haul your same sorry ass out of the room, all with busted ribs." He leans against the frame of the door. "Jesus H., that hurts!"

I grimace. "I'm…sorry. I forgot about your ribs."

"Yeah, well, that understandable given the situation. Just don't make me have to stop you again."

I feel bad about what I'm planning, I honestly do. But when opportunity isn't knocking on the door but is instead blocking it with sore ribs, a well placed elbow is all I'll need to get back into the infirmary. I am just about to put my plan into action when the door slides open and Carson comes out followed by Elizabeth and whole new set of screams. The sound makes the hairs on my arms rise and my panic and outrage return with a vengeance.

He halts when he sees Ford leaning against the door. Before he can resort to doctor mode, I descend on him with an arm pointing sharply into the medbay. "What the FUCK was that?"

"Rodney, please, try to calm down," Elizabeth pleads from his side.

I shake my head frantically, eyes wide and I'm sure a little wild. "No goddamned way am I calming down until I know just what the hell Dr. Feelgood here did to him."

"It is a side effect of the antidote," Carson tells me as calmly as he can, sending Ford into the infirmary in search of a nurse.

"Side effect? You have got to be shitting me! Side effects may include drowsiness, headache, stomach upset or pain at the injections site. They do NOT include wigging out," I flail my arms around spastically, "and attempting to strangle the person who has been trying to keep you alive for the past week!"

"Rodney, it's the Wraith's Blood; it's a very potent stimulant. After talking to Teyla and the drug dealers, Kavanagh's convinced it is a more powerful hallucinogen than LSD and what we gave him was an almost pure dose of the drug. There is no telling what he is seeing when he looks at you."

"Did you know this would happen?" I demand.

He hangs his head with a sigh. "I started to suspect something might the more I learned about the drug from Teyla, and from what Kavanagh told me about its chemical composition." I frown and cross my arms, pissed beyond speech that he didn't warn anyone about this. "But I couldn't know for sure what the reaction would be and it's not like we had a choice in the matter. If I didn't administer the antidote, he would be dead by now."

He's right. Of course, he's right. And that just seems to piss me off even more. But yelling at him will only make me feel better and very little else. I run my hand through my hair and exhale loudly. "What do we do now?"

"We wait it out. Let the drug run its course."

"And how long will that take?" Elizabeth asks before I can.

He shakes his head with uncertainty. "I really have no way to tell. The reaction was almost immediate, which may suggest it metabolizes very quickly. If that's the case it could be a few hours. It could also suggest that the Major is very susceptible to it, which means it could last for several days."

"And in the meantime you're just going to keep him strapped down while he screams like madman." I don't even attempt to keep the disgust from my voice.

Carson scowls and leans towards me as he speaks. "It's not like I have much choice in the matter. As tempting as it might be, I can't have him running around trying to kill you every chance he gets, now can I?"

Elizabeth places a calming hand on his shoulder. "Is there another way to subdue him until this is over? Sedation maybe?"

Again he shakes his head. "I don't want to administer any other drugs. I have no idea what complications the potential interaction may cause."

I cringe as another scream makes its way through the door. "Well, you can't let him keep this up. He's going to scream himself hoarse."

"I agree," Carson admits reluctantly. "I had hoped he would calm himself when you left the room, but it really made little difference, especially since he's restrained. I'm afraid he's going to injure himself if he keeps fighting against them. If he doesn't calm soon, we're going to have to find alternate accommodations for him."

"Do you have something in mind, Doctor?" Elizabeth asks.

"Aye, but I don't think anyone is going to like it, least of all Major Sheppard." He hesitates, then tells us, "The Wraith holding cell."

Elizabeth's eyes widen in alarm. Mine do the same, although I have a verbal component to my outrage as well. "No fucking way!"

"You said it yourself, Rodney," Carson points out. "We can't keep him strapped down, screaming on a bed."

"Yes, but I didn't mean we should lock him up in a cage."

"At least he'll be able to move around. It might help to work off some of the aggression he's experiencing. Maybe he won't feel so trapped. It might calm him without hurting himself or others."

"He's not a goddamned Wraith, or wild animal for that matter!"

"Rodney," Elizabeth calls calmly, "as much as I dislike the idea, I think it may be John's only choice."

I turn to her pleadingly, "Elizabeth, you can't be serious about this."

"Give me an alternative to consider." And as much as I want to provide an idea that will satisfy the yearning I see in her gaze, I can't. I shrug in defeat and she pats my arm reassuringly.

Carson takes a breath. "All right, then. I'll monitor him for a while longer. If he doesn't seem to be calming, I'll make arrangements to have him moved." He starts for the door back to the infirmary and I move to follow him. "I'm sorry, lad, but you had best stay out here."

"Carson, please, this is ridiculous…"

He raises a hand to silence me. "Rodney, you'll only upset him more. Once he calms himself, we'll see. Until then, I can't allow you to come near him." I stand dumbly, wanting to protest, but unable to voice a sufficient argument. He smiles sympathetically and walks through the door. Elizabeth does the same and she too is gone.

I can do little more than blink at their retreating forms and wonder how everything went from great to fucked in such a short amount of time.

**T plus 136 hours 12 minutes**

I push my loaded utility cart down the corridor, smiling cheerfully at those that I pass along the way. I even throw in a "Hey, how ya' doing?" to two of the geologists as I back it into the transporter. They actually slow and regard me warily and I waggle my eyebrows and rock on my heels as the door slides shut and I transport to the level below. I catch myself humming 'The Reflex' fle-fle-fle-fle-flex, a remnant of my last visit with Radek and his homage to the '80s, as I make my way to the holding cell.

My good mood increases as I see who is guarding the door. "Sgt. Smith, isn't it?" I ask with a smile.

"Yes, sir," he answers hesitantly.

"You're the young man who shot Dr. Kavanagh, right?"

He reddens. "Stunned, sir, but yes, that was me."

I beam at him. "Well, good shot." He blinks in surprise so I continue. "No, really, when it comes to potential Wraith invasions of the city, I prefer to have the military a little more on the 'shoot first, ask questions later' side of the fence. An itchy trigger finger tends to get a bad rap, unjustly so in my book."

He seems unsure how to respond to my praise. "Thank you, sir?"

I lean in and lower my voice. "Although, you've never pissed off a chemist before, I take it."

"No, sir."

I bobble my head with a sympathetic smile. "Well, the next few weeks should be interesting, then."

"In..interesting?"

I dismiss his concern with a flick of my wrist. "I'm sure you'll have nothing to worry about. It was an honest mistake, after all. Anyone could have made it. Although you were the only one that actually did." His eyes widen slightly. "Still, if it would make you feel better, I could have a little chat with Dr. Kavanagh; make sure he understands that it was nothing personal on your part."

"You would do that, sir?" He brightens at the possibility.

I shrug. "Consider it done."

"Thank you, Dr. McKay. I would really appreciate that."

I let the gratitude roll off me with a little 'pish' sound then really get down to business. "So, how's the Major doing today?"

"He's calmed quite a bit ever since Dr. Beckett gave him the ball to bounce off the force field, but he still doesn't seem to recognize anyone."

"Ah yes, the ball. I heard about that. Seems he likes to watch the 'zap' when something bumps up against the shield. I guess the ball is better than the alternative of touching it every time he wanted to see it."

He smiles. "Yes, sir. We were all glad when Dr. Beckett came up with the idea and he stopped hurting himself."

"Yes, Dr. Beckett can be one of the faster ducks on the pond when he puts his mind to it." And he could be. I'll give credit where credit is due. After slamming himself forcefully into the shielding around the cell several times, Sheppard had seemed more intrigued by the little spark of light that accompanied the collision than actually trying to escape. So much so, that he kept touching it repeatedly even though he received a good shock to the system every time he came in contact with the field. Carson, seeing the calming effect the little light show seemed to have, had produced a stress ball and the Major had been happily bouncing said ball instead of himself off the walls ever since. Yes, Carson is smart, but I am a genius. As such, I had seen a potential to gain access and contribute to his recovery all with one blinking, bowl covered box.

"And actually, that is exactly why I'm here. I'm dropping off something that should help him even more than the ball." I start to roll the cart into the room, but he steps in front of the opening and blocks my way.

"Sorry, Doctor, but I'm not allowed to let you in."

I smile reassuringly. "That was before, but now that he's calmed down I can see him."

He looks at me and I can tell he is trying to decide if I'm telling the truth or not. "I haven't received word from Dr. Beckett that that order had changed."

I release a dramatic sigh. "Look, Sergeant, I can understand your hesitance, but I'm sure that you'll agree that he has calmed dramatically since he was first brought down here." He nods so I continue. "What can it hurt if I just go in and drop this off? If he starts to get the least bit agitated, I'll leave, scout's honor." I can see the battle taking place in his conscience. Fortunately mine has decided to take the day off, so I don't even flinch when I make the scout comment. "I'm just trying to help, just like I want to help you by talking to Dr. Kavanagh." I stress the last part of my statement meaningfully and he finally gets where I'm going.

He moves aside. "As long as he doesn't get upset again, I guess it would be all right."

"Thank you, Smith. You're a good man," I tell him as I wheel the cart into the room.

The holding cell sits dead center in the room; only a pale blue-tinted light illuminates the compartment so that I make my way through shadows as I approach. John sits cross-legged on the floor, tossing the squishy ball that Carson no doubt obtained from some Earth-based drug rep dazedly against the shielding. I can hear the 'zap, thud…zap, thud' as I make my way across the space between us.

At the sound of the wheeled cart he stops, stands, and peers into the darkness, the tension obvious in his stance. As I move into the circle of light, his eyes narrow, his jaw tightens and he actually lets out a guttural, throaty sound that could be taken as a growl.

I roll my eyes. "Don't make me get a rolled up newspaper." He follows my motions as I move toward the door of the cell with those same unrecognizing, unremorseful eyes he had when he attacked me. When I reach the door I push one of the bowls and it lights up a blinking green. For a split second his face softens with an almost childish fascination, and just as quickly the spite is back. I push a red bowl next and it blinks cheerfully. Finally, I push two bowls at the same time and the entire box starts to twinkle as all the bowls flicker on and off repeatedly. His whole body seems to relax and I see the start of a smile.

I lift the box awkwardly from the cart, switch off the shielding and open the door. He watches me suspiciously as I take two steps inside and place the box on the floor. "Here, knock yourself out," I tell him and immediately step back outside and re-secure the cell. I may be willing to tempt fate but I'm not going to taunt it. He looks hesitantly between me and the box, curiosity finally winning out so that he walks the few steps over and activates a bowl. He releases something between a snort and a laugh, sits on the floor and begins activating bowl after flashing bowl.

Satisfied that he's content with his new toy, I take my laptop from the cart, settle myself on the floor just at the shadowy edge of the light, and start working on the monthly generator energy consumption report.

**T plus 139 hours 49 minutes**

"McKay?"

I jerk awake from my very uncomfortable position on the floor, sending my laptop skidding away from where it was leaning against me. "I'm awake! I'm awake! Whatdaya need?" I blink in confusion, trying to orient myself as to where exactly I have awakened. My attention is drawn to the lit area just in front of me and I squint to see Sheppard staring in wide-eyed wonder from his kneeling position in the cell.

"Major?" I realize he had called me by name and for the first time since coming out of stasis he seems to recognize me.

He swallows visibly. "You're alive." And his voice hitches on the last word so that I can't tell if it is a statement or a question.

I crawl forward so that I'm completely in the light. "Yeah, I'm alive."

He takes a shuddering breath and asks, "What about the others?"

"They're alive, too," I assure him.

He drops his face to his hands and lets out a muffled, "Damn" into his palms. He scrubs his face roughly and looks at me again with moist eyes. "I thought they had… I mean, when I woke up and there were all those Wraith… Jesus… I tried to kill one, but then they locked me up down here. Christ, I thought they had killed all of you."

I shake my head, trying to keep from laughing bitterly. He had thought I was a goddamned Wraith! More than that, he thought he was exacting revenge on the sons of bitches that had killed me, had killed all of us, and in his confusion had almost accomplished in reality what he thought his fantasy already had. How's that for fucking irony?

"John, we're fine. There are no Wraith in the city. It's the antidote, its affecting your mind. Everyone is perfectly safe. We had to lock you up so you wouldn't hurt yourself." Or anyone else for that matter, me in particular, I add silently. But no need to distress him more than he already is.

"The antidote?" he asks in confusion and as I nod in confirmation I can see the understanding and the memories wash over him. "For the poison. I was in stasis."

I smile excitedly. "Yes! That's right."

"And there were no Wraith?"

"Not unless you count Kavanagh." He gives me an odd look and I just shake my head in dismissal. "Not important right now. What is important is that you're finally acting more like yourself. How do you feel?"

"Disoriented. Kind of bed-spinney. You're sort of…" he waves his hands back and forth, "scattered."

"It's the drug," I reassure him.

"As in medication?" He continues to watch his hands as he moves them back and forth.

"Partially, but primarily as in 'Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test'."

He sits back drunkenly on his butt and with a goofy smile tilts his head from one side to the other repeatedly. "Cool."

"Yes, well, that's one way to describe it. A nightmare spawned from the depths of hell is another, more appropriate way. But cool works, too."

He seems to notice the box with bowls for the first time, "Oh, wow, what does this do?" He crawls excitedly over and touches a bowl. When it twinkles to life he flashes me a broad, wide-eyed smile. With a slow, meaningful nod of his head, he hitches a thumb toward the device. "Heeeey, pretty neat."

"Yeah," I draw the word out and accentuate it with a snapping fist pop. "So, I'm going to go call Carson and you just keep…doing what you're doing."

He doesn't look up from the box, having already figured out how to activate all the bowls at once. " 'Kay. See you later."

And with an indulgent shake of my head and a smile that just won't seem to go away, I head out and find Smith still at the door, borrow his radio, and call Carson.

"Rodney, what the bloody hell are you doing down there in the first place?" He demands and I realize I'm busted, but I don't care.

"What you couldn't. Now get down here."

"I'm already on my way." And a few minutes later he appears around the corner from the transporter. "How is he?" he asks as soon as he sees me by the door.

"Stoned," I tell him, "and in more emotional unrest than a pregnant woman. But he knows who I am and seems to remember at least part of what happened to him."

He doesn't slow when he reaches us, just brushes past and into the room. I follow close behind.

"Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard looks up from the bowls and smiles happily. "Hey, Doc! Have you seen this?"

"And just where did that come from?" He frowns as he glares at me.

I raise my chin. "He found it soothing."

"And you opened the cell and gave it to him? You really are completely mad, aren't you?"

"Well, he's better now."

"As much as you like to deny it, I am the only one with a medical degree currently present in the room, so I think I will be the one to make that determination." He deactivates the shield and has John move to the edge of the cell.

I fold my arms across my chest. "Aren't you going to let him out?"

"No," he tells me with a simple shake of his head and begins to examine him through the bars. After running through his vitals, he reactivates the shield.

"You aren't going to leave him in there, he's fine," I insist.

"No, he isn't." He holds up a hand when I start to protest. "His pupils are fixed, his pulse is rapid, and his blood pressure is elevated. He's still under the influence of the drug and I won't let him out until I'm sure he won't resort back to violence."

I look over as John lets out a laugh. He kneads the thumb of one hand into the palm of his other, shakes his head as if to clear the fuzz and goes back to his blinking box, "The only things violent are his mood swings; he's not going to hurt anyone."

"You don't know that, Rodney. And as much as I hope you're right, I'm not going to take that chance."

I start to protest further, but we both notice John is no longer activating the Ancient device. Instead he stands and begins pacing the cell, flexing his hands repeatedly.

"Major, is there a problem?" Carson asks.

He starts shaking his hands, as though he is trying to fling water from them. "It's just kind of small."

"What's small?" I ask as he tugs uncomfortably at the loose scrub top.

"This room, this cell, my fucking skin." He stretches his arms over his head, as though trying to work a kink out of a tight muscle. "I can't move," he tells us as he continues his pacing. "Goddammit! It's too small!"

"Major, you need to try to calm down…"

"Damn! I can't move!" He stops pacing, bends and puts his hands to his knees, breathing rapidly. He looks around frantically, like a trapped animal. "I need to move! It needs to be bigger!"

"John…" I start as he eyes the door to the cell.

He moves quickly to where Carson and I stand by the entrance. "Let me out, Rodney."

"Major, I'm sorry, we cannot let you out," Carson explains. "It's for your own protection."

He is rocking now, bouncing on his toes, looking at me anxiously as I look between him and Carson trying to decide what to do. Finally, I decide the glint in his eyes is a little too panicked to trust him roaming free in Atlantis. I hang my head, "Sorry, Carson 's right."

He starts pacing again, swinging his arms in broad sweeping windmills. "I can't stay in here. It's too fucking small!" He pushes his hands deep into his hair, holding his head even as he continues his back and forth motion across the floor. "Goddammit… Goddammit!" He wraps his arms around his body, shortening the distance he is moving so that he is basically walking in a small, tight circle. "Goddammit!"

He's shaking his head, rubbing his arms as if he's about to crawl out of his skin and watching him I'm about three seconds behind him. I find I'm wiggling my fingers, feeling the walls close in myself. " Carson , there must be something you can do."

"It will pass, Rodney," he tells me sadly but surely, "just give it time."

"No, it won't!" Sheppard insist from the cell. "Now, let me out!"

Carson shakes his head. "Major, we can't."

"Let me out!"

"No."

I lick my lips, the nervous energy coming out of the cell rolling across the room in waves.

"Let…me…the fuck…out!" With each word he throws his shoulder brutally against the force field, sending blue sparks flying. Carson is trying to remain rational, calmly calling his name, trying to sooth him down from the frantic emotional wall he is climbing.

But I have had enough. I turn off the shield and he slams hard into the bars of the cell. Both men freeze and stare at me, John rubbing where he arm impacted the metal. "Do you swear to me on Johnny Cash's soul and your entire stash of Snickers that you won't bolt on me?"

He nods excitedly as Carson protests my plan. "Rodney, you cannot let him out into the city."

I swing the door open. "We're not going to be in the city." Sheppard just kind of stares at me, as if he can't quite believe I'm letting him out. "Well, are you coming or not?"

He moves forward and I take him by the arm, leading him quickly out the door of the holding room. Smith opens his mouth then closes it again with a confused look, but he doesn't challenge me. I'm really starting to like that young man between his obvious awe of me, his willingness to shoot Kavanagh, and his easy to remember name.

Carson jogs up behind us as we enter the transporter. "And just where the bloody hell do you plan to be?"

I wait until we exit on the main floor and start down the hall before answering. "Stretching our legs. Spreading our wings, so to speak."

I don't slow and although I keep a hand firmly latched onto his arm, John simply follows my lead, socked feet padding in time with my booted ones, showing no indication of trying to escape. He barely seems to notice the people that scatter and stare at our little party as it moves deliberately down the middle of the hallway.

Carson finally realizes what I am planning when we reach the Jumper Bay , "Are you insane?"

We make our way to Jumper One and I round on him, "Look, we've done it your way long enough. Now it's my turn."

"This isn't a playground, Rodney. He's not a toy to be passed around, he's a human being."

As the hatch opens I throw my arms up in exasperation. "Exactly! He is a human being in need of wide open spaces and I plan to give him the widest open space I know of."

John enters the Jumper and heads for the pilot seat. With a jerk on his arm I swing him toward the second seat. "Not yet. No DUI's in the Jumper Bay ."

I sit in the pilot seat and start up the ship. Carson enters into the back end and calls to me. "Do you have any idea what you are doing?"

"Yes, I do. Now take off your jacket."

"My jacket?"

"It gets cold in here when we're in open space and the Major is only wearing scrubs, so give him your jacket."

"I'm not letting you go without discussing this further."

"Fine, come with us. I just feel I should warn you that I plan to let him fly once we leave the atmosphere."

Carson takes a shocked step back. "The man is drugged out of all rational sense. He can't be trusted behind the controls of a flying spacecraft."

I roll my eyes. "We will be in open space, thousands of light years from the nearest vessel. What's he going to run into, a moon? I think even he would be able to avoid something that big. In or out, Carson , I'm shutting the hatch."

The big baby backs out with a last threat, "I'm going to talk to Dr. Weir about this."

"Great, that means I don't need to call her and log a flight plan. Tell her we'll be back…eventually. Oh, and Carson , one more thing."

"What now?"

"The jacket." With a grumble he takes it off and tosses it into the Jumper.

The hatch closes and I activate the roof opening of the bay. I guide the ship up and out into the midday sun glistening across the ocean. I stay low, weaving my way through the spires of the city before dropping down even lower and opening her up. John leans forward looking out at the sea passing in a blur less than a hundred feet below us. After a few minutes of skimming the waves, I pull the ship straight up, rushing through the lower atmosphere and a layer of high, thin clouds, climbing higher and higher until we pop out into the black of open space.

"Big enough for you?" I ask as I look over at my traveling companion.

He has a contended smile on his face and with an exhaled breath he leans back into the seat. "Thank you."

I put us into orbit around the planet and retrieve the jacket from the back of the Jumper. "Well, it doesn't seem to have an excessive amount of lanolin on it and hopefully the Scottish flag won't have you saying words like 'bloody' and 'cheeky', but it should keep you warm."

He takes the jacket and drapes it across himself like a blanket. "It is a wee bit chilly in here," he tells me with a smirk.

"Oh god, it's affecting you already. You with the accent and Carson with the spiky hair and both of you with the sole goal in life to drive me completely insane. It's like you two are twins separated at birth."

I start to sit back in the pilot seat, then ask, "Do you want to drive for a while?"

He lets out a yawn, perfectly comfortable where he sits. "Maybe later."

"Well, whenever. No rush, we've got all the time in the world. That is, until the next disaster strikes."

"How long was I out?" he asks quietly from his seat, never taking his eyes from the view of the watery planet below us.

I knew he would ask this question, knew I would eventually have to fill him in on all that has happened since he went into stasis. I look at my watch, tempted to tell him that it has been exactly 140 hours and 31 minutes since I activated the chamber. But floating here in space, with the whole universe to our backs and home spinning by below us, the numbers really don't mean anything anymore.

"Too damned long," I tell him expecting him to demand more.

Instead, he settles down further under the jacket before sighing, "I figured as much," and says no more.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the planet revolve below us, watching the sun set then rise then set then rise again. The third time around I find myself thinking that relativity can really bite you in the ass when you make a promise of three days and you just watched the equivalent rotate past you in a manner of minutes. And yet I stand by my previous statement that it really had been too damned long. Einstein was only partially right, the future didn't come soon enough, but it did eventually come. And I'd much rather think of the future than dwell on the past. Still, for now, I'll be content to hover in low orbit, somewhere between past and future, the heavens and the planets, the crisis coming to an end and the ones yet to come. I know it is a temporary reprieve, but I'll take whatever the space-time continuum is willing to offer. I listen to John's breathing as it evens out, slows and deepens into sleep. And relatively soon after, my own follows suite.

**T plus… several days**

"Okay, stop…. I just… need to rest." I bend at the middle and gulp air into my burning lungs. A few people slow and stare as they make their way through the corridors of the city. By the looks they give, you'd think they've never seen a man on the verge of self-inflicted death before. I glare at them as best I can given my near hypoxic state. My t-shirt is drenched with sweat and I hate to even think about what sort of bacterial happy hour is taking place in these shoes.

Sheppard drops back, jogging in place beside me as I wipe my arm across my forehead. Aside from wearing the most god awful track suit that should have been put out of its misery several decades earlier, he barely looks like he's done more than stroll casually through the hallways.

"So…" I try to speak between gasps. "How many miles…do you do…a day?"

"Usually five, although I try to work in a couple of seven or eight mile days at some point during the week."

"And this…" gasp "is one of those days?"

"Nope," he tells me as he continues to jog beside me.

The bastard isn't even breathing hard, has barely broken a sweat. "You mean we haven't gone five miles yet?"

"Not quite, but almost."

"How much further?"

He points to a door leading to a balcony a little ways down the corridor. "See that doorway, there?"

"That'll be five miles?" I ask in growing anticipation that the end of this torture is within sight.

"No, that will be two. Only three more to go after that," he tells me cheerfully.

I had hoped that he would forget about the promise to go jogging with him, but when he hadn't, I had tried several other ploys to get out of it. First I used my leg injury, but when Carson cleared me for full duty a day later, that excuse went out the window. Then I had explained that I didn't have the proper shoes; I couldn't be expected to jog in boots or boat shoes and those were the only ones I had brought with me. The next morning he had shown up at my door, hands behind his back, smiling. My dread-filled "What?" was met with his right hand revealing a pair of previously worn running shoes. When I then informed him that there was no way on any level of hell that I would wear someone else's germ infested and disease laden shoes, he had only continued to smile and pulled out the can of Lysol he held in his left hand. Seeing as he was obviously not going to give up, I took the shoes, soaked them for a full day in bleach, then sprayed the entire can of disinfectant on them. Sheppard had to take me to the infirmary when I nearly passed out from the fumes in my room. Which did manage to delay the jogging for one more day, but this morning I had nothing.

I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor. "Forget it; I should have just let you die from your own stubbornness. Would have taught you a valuable lesson."

"Relax, McKay, I never intended for you to go five miles on your first day. The whole idea is to extend your life, not end it abruptly with a coronary."

"So, are you going to keep running? Because if you are, you might want to swing by the infirmary and send Carson down with a crash cart in a few minutes."

"Nah, thought I'd take you to breakfast to celebrate your new healthier lifestyle."

"Oh, well, in that case, help me up."

He gives me a hand as he tells me, "Besides, I need to make sure you don't blow it by eating any extra pastries this morning."

We start to the cafeteria and I shake my head. "Oh, no. I agreed to you developing an exercise program for me, not changing my diet."

"The two go hand in hand, Rodney. You can't do one without the other."

"Yes, I can. I didn't sign up for any two-for-one package deal."

From a side corridor a very angry Kavanagh appears with electric blue hair, "You did this on purpose, I know it."

Carson follows behind him, frowning. "I did no such thing."

"Oh, and you just expect me to believe that my hair turned this color by accident?"

"For god's sake, man, I'm a doctor, not a hairdresser!"

"I should have known better than to trust you. You're just one of _them_." Kavanagh spits the last word, glaring meaningfully at us as he blows past in a full blown hissy.

John and I blink innocently as he storms away and leaves Carson standing in the hallway. Carson looks as if he is about to follow then crosses his arms. "Well, at least _we_ don't have blue hair!" he yells after him and for a split second I can see a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. With a scowl he mumbles, "Good riddance to bad rubbish," but he's whistling 'Oops! I Did It Again' as he strolls back toward the infirmary.

We watch him go with a mirrored, straight-faced, "huh," at the oddity of the little drama that was just played out before us and resume our walk to the cafeteria, filled with a sense of relief that the balance of good and evil has returned to normal and all is right with the world.

"Besides," I continue as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, "you don't have much to worry about; if the pain burning a hole in my side doesn't make me lose my appetite, that jogging suit you're wearing will. Where the hell did you get that thing, anyway?"

With a pout he runs a hand down the striped arm. "What's wrong with it? I think it's pretty styling."

"Yeah? So did Mr. Roper when he wore one just like it on 'Three's Company'."

"Well, you're one to talk, 'Genius'." He rolls his eyes at my t-shirt.

"Hey, there is nothing wrong with truth in advertising. Unlike some people who are one Mercedes Benz hood ornament on a chain away from being the lost member of Run-DMC. We should stop by Radek's room, the two of you could sing 'My Adidas' together. But you better hurry; Elizabeth's granting him parole tomorrow."

Before he can respond, Ford calls out behind us. "Sirs!" We stop until he catches up to us with a smile. "Just wanted to let you know that I saw Dr. Beckett this morning and I've been cleared for full duty."

"Congratulations!" Sheppard tells him with a clap on the back. "Just one more reason to celebrate. Come join us for breakfast; we're having fruit and oatmeal." I just frown at his sideways glance in my direction.

"Do you realize what this means, sir? With Teyla released yesterday, the entire team is clear for duty, all at the same time."

With dawning understanding, we stop in our tracks. I look to John. "My god, this hasn't happened for months."

"We need to see Weir," he tells me already turning, just as I am.

"Now," I agree and we start walking in the opposite direction back toward Elizabeth's office.

From behind us, we hear Ford say, "Well, I guess I'll go get some breakfast. Alone."

Sheppard waves absently behind him, even as he begins discussing possible missions. "I still have the briefing from the one we were supposed to go on after the planet where we were put in the tanks."

"I remember that one. The gate was in orbit, we can take the Jumper." I'm unable to keep the excitement from my voice as we walk briskly toward the control room.

John makes some mental calculations. "We can have a quick briefing and be out of here before lunch time."

"That should put at least one of us back in the infirmary and at death's door before Carson goes to bed."

John glances at his watch, lips pursed in thought. "Yeah," he agrees, "that's about right."

We stop and regard each other, considering the joke we have just made, knowing with our luck it may not be much of a joke at all. Its not that I believe our team is cursed, but let's just say we never did get around to rearranging the furniture in Sheppard's quarters. But given the alternative, the play it safe mentality that equates to not playing at all, I'll take our chances. May not be the smartest decision I've ever made, but I'm convinced it's the best.

Einstein once said, "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." He also said, "I should've been a plumber." Just imagine what a waste it would have been if Einstein had taken his own advice and changed out toilet gaskets instead of changing the way we look and interact with time and space. Well, Sheppard and I may be two of the biggest idiots ever to wander out into the infinity of the universe, but what a waste if we didn't.

"So, what are you waiting for, Major?" I ask with a grin.

He raises his eyebrows with a smirk and a hitch of his head. "After you, McKay."

We head down the hall toward Elizabeth's office, toward the next mission, toward what the universe has in store for us, good or ill. I've decided that the Steady State may be comforting, but with a good friend at my side and a good team to back me up, the Big Bang is more exciting…

…and a hell of a lot sexier.

_Complete!_


End file.
